


A Place and A Feeling

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adopted Children, Adoptive Parents Castiel & Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Cas Loves Guinea Pigs, Castiel in Glasses, Castiel in Panties, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Loves Rabbits, Desk Sex, Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Home, House Hunting, Hugs, Lonely Castiel, Love Confessions, M/M, Moving In Together, Porn with Feelings, Premature Ejaculation, Professionals Being Unprofessional, Real Estate Agent Castiel, Romance, Schmoop, Virgin Castiel, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Workplace Relationship, feelings with porn, or to be more precise:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Human AU. Dean Winchester still hasn't found the perfect little house in the suburbs he's always dreamed of. On the off-chance that another meeting with his totally adorkable realtor could finally change everything, Dean keeps going back to Castiel's agency. Like Cas always says, home is both a place and a feeling. But what if the place Dean's looking for is Castiel's house, and the feeling is Castiel himself?Sometimes the most unprofessional choices lead to the most enjoyable personal consequences. This is one of those times.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I offer my endless gratitude to my betas, [Libby](http://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/) and [Mittens](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/). They are good eggs.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Past Dean/others. (NO past Cas/others. Cas labels himself as plain ol' gay, but he's also demisexual as heck. So, Dean-sexual, in essence.) One sex scene with no distinct top or bottom; one mention of theoretical bottom!Dean in a fantasy. Multiple mentions of desserts/pastry/cakes/pies. Mentions of Cas being orphaned. One segment discussing underage sex, resulting in teen pregnancy (between unnamed side characters). Cas has lowkey stalkerish tendencies. And, um... although this fic contains a touch of angst, it's paired with no small amount of soul-melting fluff. It's so fluffy you might feel queasy. (Yes, this is definitely a warning.)

Liberty Crest wasn’t the biggest of places. Mostly farmland, really. Driving along in his gleaming silver Prius, Dean would see nothing beyond his windshield except obnoxiously green trees hogging the roadside, interspersed with endless lowland. He’d brake for a host of sparrows chasing a swarm of insects across the road, and he’d pull over to let trucks pass. He’d see no other vehicles for ten minutes, and then a Wawa convenience store would up pop out of nowhere.

Except there was more than one store. That Wawa was the iceberg tip to the whole town. On his first time driving through, Dean had gone straight past without realising he’d missed a turn. If it wasn’t for his GPS telling him he’d overshot, he’d have ended his day in Pennsylvania, and he wasn’t having that. New Jersey was home. Sure, he wanted to move out of the city, but he wasn’t going _that_ far.

Online real estate listings always described Liberty Crest as ‘the perfect mix of rural and suburban living’, and Dean was excited by that. His Prius wouldn’t look out of place on a red brick driveway, but there’d still be room for pet rabbits and home-grown vegetables.

Since the town was so compact, local companies doubled up on office space. The dry-cleaners shared a front door with the ladies’ gym, the supermarket had an Italian restaurant out back, and the two pizza places faced each other, squashed in either side of the Taco Bell parking lot.

The real estate agency operated from inside the town hall. Unlike the first time, walking on smart marble floors and hearing distant doorslams echoing down pillared corridors no longer made Dean nervous. Visiting his realtor no longer felt like attending a job interview; it felt like knocking back champagne after work. It was a little overly formal, but it was still a nice treat.

Today he waited on a white bench in the hallway, rummaging through his satchel to check he had the right papers. He patted a lumpy side pouch with his fingers, just to be sure he had the most important thing of all. Yes, still there.

One of the realtors popped her head around the corner, and Dean looked up with a smile.

“Oh, _there_ you are, Winchester,” Charlie chided. “You’re late.”

“A wizard is never late,” Dean replied in his Gandalf voice, making Charlie chortle. He dropped the act to ask, “Is Cas ready, or...?”

Charlie wandered closer with her hands in her pants pockets, showing off her _Star Wars_ t-shirt, its vintage colours blazing bright under her smart work jacket. “He got started on some other project, since you weren’t here on time. He’s finishing up now. You can go through if you want.”

“Awesome,” Dean replied. He stood up with a tiny grunt, turning around to check himself in the ornate mirror. He sighed, remarking to Charlie, “I did mean to get here on time. But, uh, copier broke at work. Damn thing cost me half an hour.”

“Oh, is _that_ the story,” Charlie said, mockingly suspicious. “A copy machine. I thought you were having an affair.”

Dean snorted. “God, as if anyone would be attracted to _this_ ,” he uttered, judging his reflection as he preened. Hair perfectly coiffed, navy polka-dot suspenders in place, yellow tie – wait, wait, hang on – ah, there we go. Yellow tie perfectly centred, its hem in line with Dean’s belt buckle.

Dean gazed levelly at his reflection, decided this was as good as it could get, then turned to Charlie, who watched him serenely.

“You always look fine, Dean, I don’t know why you fuss so much,” she said, clearly thinking she was paying him a compliment. She was the kind of person who only straightened her hair once a week, so Dean didn’t expect her to understand. “Go on,” she added, stretching her hand to guide Dean to the closed door of the shared office. “I’m going to get coffee, so you’ve got the place to yourselves. But _please_ , for the love of our broken Dyson, ignore the mess. His files are spilling over onto _my_ desk. I’ve tried to tidy but he insists it’s ‘organised’.”

“You’ll come over to the dark side of office organisation when you get your next promotion,” Dean warned, with a small smile. “Oh, say hi to your cat for me. Calliope, right?”

Charlie rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Have fun with Four-Eyes, nerdface.”

Still grinning from that interaction, Dean entered Castiel’s office, easing the door closed behind him. Full sunlight poured in through the window of the small room, hitting the left-hand-side bookshelf at a low angle. Shadows’ edges were ruffled by ferns and succulents which lined Charlie’s desk and the windowsill, some hanging from the ceiling. The room was humid and hot, but an oversized electric fan rotated, squeaking, blowing a cool breeze in from outside. Dean smelled cooking pizza.

“Dude, no wonder you keep the water cooler running the whole time,” Dean uttered. “I’ve sat in saunas chillier than this.”

Dean’s eyes moved to the blackboard on the right, which Castiel faced, sleeves rolled up, his plum-coloured waistcoat nearly a colour-match for the ugly Victorian wallpaper.

“It’s satisfying that you remember so much about her,” Castiel said distractedly, scrawling something unintelligible on the blackboard, sending chalk dust raining down from his pinched fingertips. “Charlie, I mean. People occasionally remember _our_ names, but rarely our family’s or pets’. Such is the life of a realtor, I suppose.”

“I got a good mind for people,” Dean said with a shrug. “Not so much for facts and figures. Kind of the opposite to you, ain’t that a slice of whimsy.”

Castiel at last glanced back over his shoulder. His uncommonly sharp blue gaze was greyed out by the finger smudges on his glasses, and he realised this immediately, taking off his spectacles and rubbing them on his untucked shirt. “How are you, Dean?” he asked, replacing his glasses. His eyes lit up as he saw Dean properly. “You’re wearing the tie I got you.”

“Am I?” Dean looked down, lifting the tie on his palm. “Oh. So I am. Yeah, it matched what I put on today, so.” He shrugged a shoulder, pretending he hadn’t spent half an hour last night picking an outfit complementary enough to make a bright yellow tie _not_ offend his eyes.

Castiel stood staring at Dean for a second longer, then he blinked and remembered his manners, one hand gesturing to one of two empty chairs before his giant messy desk. “Please, sit down, have a drink. Um. It’s good to see you. Would you like some water, are you thirsty?”

Dean just smiled to himself as Castiel went to the water cooler beside the blackboard, unprompted, grabbing a disposable cup and filling it with water. First he filled it halfway, hesitated, then filled it so much it overflowed. He breathed nervously as he handed it over. “Sorry.”

“Mm,” Dean hummed kindly, taking a sip, while the fingers of his free hand spread in a placating gesture to ease Castiel’s jitters. Castiel took the hint and relaxed, hurrying to the other side of his desk, sitting down, sweeping his tie down his chest as he hopped his chair in.

While Dean drank, Castiel moved stacks and stacks of folders and papers and loose pens to the other side of the desktop, so he could see Dean across a clear space.

Dean set aside his cup, then made a point of brushing pencil shavings onto the carpet before leaning forward on his elbows.

“So,” Castiel began. “I— Wait, what’s the time?”

“Twenty to five,” Dean replied. “There was a, uh... holdup at the firm. Jammed printer, of all things.”

“Ah. Well, it happens,” Castiel said understandingly. “That said, I do have an appointment looming, I’m afraid I can’t stay overtime today.”

“Oh?”

“We can reschedule,” Castiel insisted. “You don’t mind.” When Dean shook his head, Castiel reached for a certain file he’d kept aside. “There’s a few things I thought we could take a look at while we’re both here. Obviously I’m still on the lookout for properties within fifty miles of your current apartment, but, alas, short of scrying with a crystal ball or reading some poor bird’s entrails, there’s no word on what’s about to go on the market. The best I can do is pounce on information as soon as it comes up.”

“You get anything?”

“Well...” Castiel ran a chalky hand back through his dark hair, leaving it streaked grey and tufted up on one side. “I’m not sure how much you’ll like it. There’s always a chance...”

“So long as there’s room for a rabbit warren, I’m interested,” Dean said, palms raised. “Six months of jack squat is long enough for me to start getting desperate.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Dean,” Castiel said concernedly, one hand holding a manilla folder halfway open. “Summer’s only just begun, there’ll be a lot more sales in the coming months. People sell when the weather’s good.”

Dean leaned forward in semi-interest. “So what’s so special about this one?”

Castiel pressed his lips together noncommittally. “It’s one of the new places, up at Quarter’s Yard.”

“The elderly community?”

“Beside it. They’re part-way through building a horseshoe-shaped lane with a few dozen houses. Each has its own garden – here, look.” Castiel turned the file around, showing Dean an artist’s sketch describing what the houses might look like. “Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. Since it was on your list of requirements, there’s a nearby school. Which would make the place good for re-sale.”

“I haven’t even seen the place yet, Cas, I’ve got no business thinking about selling it already,” Dean huffed. “Hey, I know, I know, it’s all part of the long-term plan – no, don’t give me that lecture again— The point is I don’t _want_ to sell. If I ever do have kids, fingers crossed, I want something they can inherit.”

Castiel nodded. “This one’s in your price range. Take a good look.”

Dean picked up the file and gave it a once-over. None of the house’s listed features leapt out at him as a must-have, but he trusted that Castiel had fair reason to reserve the file for him rather than passing it straight to a retiree or a couple who already had children. There had to be something interesting about it.

“I mean, I’d feel better about the property if I could see the real thing,” Dean said, handing back the file. “Get a feel for the place, maybe.”

“We can absolutely do that,” Castiel said, before dropping the file and rummaging in his waistcoat pockets for something. He pulled out a plastic wristwatch, which was beeping faintly. “Oh, damn. Button— Button! Where’ve you gone?”

Dean narrowed his eyes, perplexed for all of three seconds. Without warning, something large and warm moved past his leg. He yelped, almost falling backwards off his chair.

He craned his neck to see under the desk, and let out an astonished breath as he discovered his shoes had been sharing space with a large, elderly, floppy-eared basset hound.

“The hell,” Dean muttered, as the dog plodded out from under the desk, then paused to shake its head, flopping its ears until one settled atop its head like a weird inside-out hat.

“Button, come here, boy,” Castiel called, standing up. He again rooted around in his pockets, checking the backside of his slacks for good measure, and came up with a tablet between his fingers. “Good Button, come on. Time for your medicine.”

Dean watched, bemused, amused, and smiling, as Castiel handed the dog the tablet, and the dog ate it up without a fuss. Castiel crouched down and proceeded to croon, ruffling the mutt’s velvet head, giving him a big old kiss last of all. Button yawned, and Castiel recoiled from the smell of dog breath, returning to his chair.

“What a good Button,” Castiel said, with a tone of finality. “Go back to sleep now, we’ll go home in a minute, okay? I just need to finish talking to Dean. It’s very important.” Castiel lifted his chin and settled his gaze on Dean. “Now. Where were we?”

“We were about to discuss why, where, and _when_ you got a dog,” Dean said. “You never mentioned him before. I thought you were planning to get guinea pigs.”

“He’s not mine,” Castiel said, glancing down as Button plopped himself under the desk again, one paw bumping Dean’s shoe. “He’s my neighbour Sherita’s – she had to drive to see her children’s godparents for the week and she needed someone to look after him.”

Dean pursed his lips and bent at the waist, fingers stretching to touch Button’s soft ears.

Castiel’s smile softened. “As the story goes, Button was born old and achey. Sometimes they call him Benjamin Button.”

“Pff. Hilarious. Not exactly a puppy now, though, is he?” Dean asked, gazing into Button’s dark, dewy eyes.

“He’s nice to have around,” Castiel said. “Getting him home on time is the reason I have to leave early – and speaking of—” The plastic watch started beeping again, and Castiel sighed. “So much for our meeting.”

“You’re going now?”

“Afraid so.” Castiel stood up, tucking away the watch, bending to pick up a dog leash. “Come on, Button. off we go! Up-up! Good boy.”

“Hey-hey— Wait—” Dean stood up too. “Could we go see this place next time?” Dean touched the file for the half-built property. “Not gonna lie, I’m getting antsy. I wanna move forward with things already, y’know? At least if we made plans, today’s drive up here won’t have been totally wasted.”

Castiel paused, looking up from the leash clip, a surprised look in his eyes. “Oh. I— I’m sorry.” He looked down, disheartened. “Maybe I’ve become a bit unprofessional. I thought...”

Dean frowned worriedly when Castiel didn’t finish his sentence. “What?”

Castiel gulped. “Nothing. No, I was just working under the assumption that— It’s embarrassing, really— Any time I saw you, it couldn’t possibly be... time wasted. Anyway, that’s clearly a load of baloney so I’ll go now and thank you for coming and I— I’ll clear my schedule for you next week. Thursday sound good? Yes. Right. Oh, here’s a coupon for half-price orange juice, I thought you’d— Never mind. Come on, Button! Up! Let’s go.”

“Cas! Hey, wait!” Dean hurried after Castiel, taking his shoulder gently. Castiel turned without resistance. His eyes were misty, kept lowered, but his lenses magnified the sight of tears in his waterline. “Cas,” Dean sighed, softer than he’d meant to speak. “Look, man, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You didn’t?” Castiel looked up, eyebrows rising. “Are we not a regular client and his unusually overzealous realtor?”

“Wh— No? I mean, _yeah_ , but—” Dean exhaled. “Listen, I was the one who showed up late. We’d have gotten a bunch done if I’d been on time.” His heart was beating unusually hard, and he wasn’t sure why. He rubbed his sweaty fingertips together, looking down, watching how they glittered in sunlight. “Umm. Listen, you should go. Button’s waiting.”

Castiel scruffed at his own hair, rearranging the tuft that was still lightened by chalk dust. “I’ll see you next week, Dean.”

“Next week,” Dean agreed. But before Castiel could turn away completely, Dean reached to take his forearm. His thumb touched the wrinkles of Castiel’s rolled-up sleeve, but his fingers pressed warm muscle. Dean’s heart leapt and he quickly dropped his hand. “I got somethin’ for you,” he said, nervousness making his accent slip back to a vaguely midwestern drawl, which he tried not to be shocked by. He went to his satchel resting on the second chair, retrieving the gift he’d brought.

“It’s kinda weird,” Dean said, offering it to Castiel without looking. “Just, you mentioned you were into these as a kid, so...”

Castiel laughed gently, one leash-wrapped hand moving to touch Dean’s gift. “A yo-yo?”

“It’s got the Road Runner on it,” Dean said, biting his lip as he handed it over. “Your favourite, right?”

“My favourite indeed,” Castiel said, slipping a finger into the string loop. He expertly, _effortlessly_ spun the yo-yo down the string, made it walk up his arm. It twisted a triangle around his other hand, then whipped up back to its starting position. He grasped the toy in his hand with a gleeful twinkle in his eyes. “Thank you, Dean,” he said, with depth in his voice. “This means a lot to me.”

Dean flapped a hand in an ‘ _ah, shucks, it was nothing_ ’ kind of way.

Castiel stepped forward, arms out like he was going for a hug. Although he aborted the movement and stepped away like he’d never had any intention to offer affection, Dean had seen and comprehended the gesture. Disappointment and satisfaction sat side-by-side in his stomach, like he’d eaten a PBJ sandwich made with the wrong flavour jelly.

“Alright, Button, we’re going,” Castiel said, clipping the leash to the dog’s red collar. “Say goodbye to Dean, now.”

“See ya around, Button,” Dean said. His eyes moved from the dog to Castiel, and though he spoke in his talking-to-animals voice, he said, “Hope you have a safe trip. I’ll miss you.”

Castiel seemed to smile to himself. “Button will miss you too, I think. Quite a bit.”

He gave Dean one last look before he left. Somehow – Dean didn’t know how – there was a new smudge on Castiel’s glasses.

**· · · · · ♥ · · · · ·**

Dean turned his head at the sound of car tires crackling on gravel. His rising smile felt inevitable; he was nothing but happy to see Castiel’s Chevrolet gliding up the driveway. There was a slight curve in the driveway, and Cas flicked his turn signal on for one flash. Dean grinned. Honestly, this guy was just so goddamn... extra.

Taking a deep breath, Dean raised his eyes to the sky, making a point of watching the pink sunset rather than Castiel clambering out of his car. Castiel carried a set of jingly keys, and he tossed them in his hand as he shut the car door behind him.

“How goes your evening?” Castiel asked, his voice low and quiet so as not to disturb the ambience of birdsong.

“Not bad. Yourself?”

Castiel smiled halfway, eyes dipping to Dean’s shoes as he came up close. “It’s good to see you, Dean.”

Dean felt a flutter in his chest. “I asked how you were, not how you feel about me.”

Castiel looked up, mischief in his gaze. “My mood was neutral, but I’m positively over the moon now that I’ve seen you. How’s that?”

Dean snorted, eyes turning towards the pristine-looking showhome so he didn’t have to respond directly. “So,” he said. “What are we looking at?”

Castiel pulled out a manilla folder he’d had tucked under his arm. “As I’m sure you noticed, this is the only one on the row the builders have completed. The designers filled it with rented furniture to make it easier to envision how you’d use the rooms. I have the keys— Ah-buh-buh-baah... Oh, here.” He picked out a key marked with a coloured sticker. “Follow me and I’ll show you around.”

Dean walked at Castiel’s heels, head down, breathing slowly so Castiel wouldn’t notice Dean was trying to inhale his scent. Cas wasn’t one for cologne – or at least it always wore off before Dean met with him – so he always smelled like whatever he’d eaten last. It was a pleasant fact: Cas had a sweet tooth to rival a hyperactive honeybee.

“The bakery’s still open?” Dean said in surprise.

Castiel glanced back over his shoulder.

“I, uh.” Dean cleared his throat, waiting for Castiel to unlock the front door. “You. Kind of, um. Smell like sugar.” His voice quietened. “And berries.”

“Oh,” Castiel smiled. “No, I saved a Danish pastry to eat on my way here. The bakery closes at five—”

“Five on the dot,” Dean finished. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Castiel licked his lower lip. “Now my mouth is watering.”

“Mm. My bad.”

Castiel sighed and opened the front door at last. Dean expected something marvellous, but the front entrance seemed astonishingly ordinary. One narrow hallway broke off in two; on the left was a doorway, on the right was a staircase leading up. The walls were painted a greyish blue with white trim, and everything smelled like new plastic.

“Bet it’ll be more comfortable once it’s full of shoes and recycling,” Dean said, stepping inside first. “It’s... very clean.”

“On the left is the dining and kitchen area,” Castiel said, and Dean went ahead through the left door. Castiel switched on the light, and Dean was again underwhelmed.

It was an okayish dining area. It had a decent-looking open-plan kitchen. The lighting was fairly standard, the sink was stainless steel. The windows looked out on the elderly community nearby, their house lights coming on as dusk fell.

“Everything will be customisable if you put your deposit in now,” Castiel said, flipping through pages in his notes. “From wall colour to carpeting. You can make one of these houses your very own.”

“You sound like a robot,” Dean muttered, gently pushing Castiel’s shoulder as he went past, bored of the kitchen already. “I know you’re in this for the pay packet but you could at least sound enthused.”

“As could you,” Castiel said accusingly, hurrying after Dean. “Hang on, bathroom is here.”

Castiel showed Dean a door under the stairs, and Dean had to duck to get inside. Castiel tugged on the pull-light, and thus they gazed upon a small bathroom with an uncomfortably low sloped ceiling, and a shower tucked into the furthest corner.

“Hm,” Dean said.

Castiel took a breath, no doubt to impart some fact about the house, but thought better of it and backed out of the bathroom, waiting for Dean to follow. Dean exited within seconds, turning the light off as he left.

Castiel took the lead on the stairs.

“Not gonna lie, I’m not thrilled about the vibe of this place,” Dean uttered, eyes on Castiel’s perky butt, watching his thighs work to get him up the stairs.

“Well, take a look at the bedrooms before you write off the whole thing,” Castiel said, gesturing Dean ahead at the top of the stairs. “Perhaps they’ll change your mind.”

Dean viewed both bedrooms. They were minimalistic, each padded out with a too-big bed with floor-length bedsheets, a nightstand decorated with fake flowers, and a mass-produced art piece on the back wall.

Back in the upstairs hallway, Dean peered over the barrier that overlooked the staircase, then glanced up at the trapdoor to the attic. He let Castiel talk for a minute about the water system here, while they poked around the laundry room and second bathroom.

Castiel eventually shook his head. “No. I don’t know why we bothered. It’s going to be someone’s house eventually, but it’s not _your_ house. You’d much rather be eating pastry, wouldn’t you?”

“Am I that obvious?” Dean smirked, glancing down.

“To be fair, you’d always rather be eating pastry.”

Dean chuckled.

“Come on,” Castiel said softly, touching Dean’s bicep. “I saved half my Danish for you, it’s in the car.”

“You did?” Dean exclaimed, breathless.

Castiel’s eyebrows peeked out over the top rim of his glasses. “Did you think I’d be cruel enough to come here smelling like pastry, and _not_ offer you some? Please.”

Dean kinda wanted to kiss him. He forced himself to look away before his eyes locked on his realtor’s pretty berry-tinted lips.

Castiel touched Dean’s arm again, easing past his side to head downstairs. “With regards to the house – it’s no big deal. There’ll be more properties, we just have to keep fishing. Like I always say, Dean, home is both a place and a feeling. The place is fine enough, but without the feeling—” Castiel paused near the foot of the stairs and looked back. “Dean?”

Dean sat down in the middle of the stairs, in the shadow of the upstairs barrier, not yet entering the glow from downstairs. He settled in a thoughtful silence.

Castiel exhaled and climbed back up to join him. The middle stair was a tight fit for both of them. Castiel kept his hands on his lap with his folder, and Dean held onto his own hands, shoulders hunched.

“What’s up?” Castiel asked.

Dean swallowed, one thumb stroking the side of his own hand over and over. His gaze became unfocused, and he didn’t try and fix it. “What if— What if you’re right? What if all the places you’ve shown me – what if that’s only part of it? This place is _fine_ , Cas. Gosh, I mean – it’s got a good roof, it has four walls, it’s new, it’s in a great location. There’s nothing wrong with it. By nearly anyone’s standards it’s spectacular. I’d bet you anything my nonexistent kids would love to grow up here. But...” Dean frowned.

Castiel waited patiently, watching the side of Dean’s face.

“We’ve looked at, what, fifty houses in the last six months?”

“Forty-seven,” Castiel corrected.

Dean sighed. “A home is both a place and a feeling, right? Maybe no house seems to fit because the _feeling_ ain’t there. New, old, furnished, unfurnished; we’ve seen it all. Everything’s _okay_ , or fine, or not my style. Nothing’s perfect. Yeah, I wanna move out of the city, but it’s about more than the thrill of newness, or me wanting to keep rabbits. Push comes to shove, I want—” He faltered. “I want...”

His hand covered his mouth, rubbing back and forth. Breath burst from between his lips as he dropped his hand. “Guess I don’t know _what_ I want. I’m doing this backwards, y’know? I’m preparing a home for people who aren’t in my life yet.”

“Nowhere’s right for you, because it’s not _for_ you,” Castiel concluded.

Dean nodded, ashamed. “God, I’m sorry. Feels like I’ve been giving you the runaround.”

“No, no. I’m here to help you achieve your dream, Dean. I’ll still try, even if you decide you want something else.”

“What am I supposed to do now, Cas?” Dean asked, shrugging, eyes moving to Castiel’s necktie, dazedly noticing that it was tied backwards. “All these houses you’ve shown me are nice, but I feel like I should be swingin’ my bat in a totally different ballpark. Like you said, I want something else. And I don’t know what the hell that something _is_ yet.”

After a beat, Castiel gave Dean a sly little smile. “I think I can help. I happen to have the keys to a ‘totally different ballpark’ kind of house.”

“Yeah?”

Castiel nodded. “If you get in your car and follow my lead, I’ll give you the rest of my Danish to eat on the journey.”

Dean met Castiel’s eyes, eyebrows rising in response to this peculiar manner of coercion. But he smirked anyway, because Castiel knew just enough about Dean to openly bait him with baked goods. Frankly, Dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

**· · · · · ♥ · · · · ·**

Dean parked his Prius at an angle, with its hood six inches from the taillights of Castiel’s Chevy.

He sat with his hand on the ignition button, delayed in turning off the car. He was staring at the house.

They’d parked in the driveway of an odd chalet-type abode. Its exterior was all dark wood, with a peaked roof and overhanging eaves, and four neat cross-bar windows, glowing amber with lights from inside. Vines grew up the front walls. These were not well-manicured English vines, but overgrown tangles of weeds, all different types and colours, fighting to strangle each other. Even in the gloom of the blue hour, Dean could tell that the front of the house would be fluttery and colourful in daylight.

Finally Dean cut the engine, but couldn’t move. He just wanted to admire how pretty the house was. Someone clearly lived here already; a Hawai’ian-style shirt was being used as a curtain in an upper window, and there was laundry pegged on the umbrella clothesline in the unmown front yard.

Castiel had shown Dean around inhabited houses before, sometimes when their owners were home, sometimes when they weren’t. It always felt invasive, but for some reason Dean felt very eager to _snoop_ inside this particular house. Whoever chose to live here had to be interesting. There were three stickers on the white panel of the front door: one from Greenpeace, one from the WWF; Dean recognised the logos even from a distance. The third was a gay pride flag.

Castiel approached Dean’s door, tapping twice on the glass with a knuckle.

Dean left the car, forgetting to put his jacket on. He smiled lopsidedly, eyes drifting to Castiel. “Please, _please_ ,” he set his palms together, eyes gentle on his friend, “tell me it’s in my budget.”

Castiel smiled, and one eye closed. Dean wasn’t sure if he’d meant to wink, but it kind of looked like a wink. “You might be surprised how lightly this place would impact your finances,” Castiel said. “Mind the step,” he added, turning towards the house and beckoning with a small swoop of his hand. “I’ve tripped over it a few times.”

Dean made sure to watch where he put his feet. He grinned as he stepped up and found a welcome mat with an alien on it. “These folks sure are quirky, huh?”

“Not many visitors,” Castiel muttered, finding the correct key with one hand, barely looking at the collection he held. He paused, then reached over and tapped the porch light sconce, which flickered and bloomed with a pleasant whiteness.

The front door unlocked with a satisfying _clak!_

Castiel stepped inside first, checking behind the door. “No? Okay. We’re good.” He offered Dean the open door, unbuttoning his waistcoat at the same time. “I thought there’d be an avalanche.”

“Shoes and recycling?” Dean asked.

“A falling bicycle,” Castiel amended. “And recycling.” He took his shoes off with his toes against the heels, then looked at them. “And shoes.”

Dean chuckled, taking his own shoes off without prompting. Plenty of homeowners let potential buyers wander around with their outdoor shoes on, but this house seemed to be carpeted entirely by vintage rugs over untreated floorboards, so Dean was especially wary of traipsing dirt everywhere. The grain of a tatty old rug under his socks felt marvellous, anyhow.

Exactly like the house they’d visited earlier that evening, the foyer opened up to a staircase and a hallway door. Castiel led Dean up the stairs first. Dean put his hand on the handrail, pleased by how smoothly it ran in his fist. It was old. Properly _old_ old. Not antique. Just well-used. Well-loved. Well cared for, for a long time.

“Three bedrooms, one bathroom,” Castiel said, stopping on the second floor landing. “The third floor has the smallest bedroom. The master bedroom is the one I— That is to say. It’s the one I like best, personally.” He adjusted his glasses and nodded down the hall. “Furthest along.”

Dean ran his fingertips along the textured wallpaper as he went forward. He could see why Castiel seemed to like this place. It was certainly his style. Kind of tacky and awkward. Yet, somehow a little sexy, either despite or because of the outdated decor, layered over classic framework.

Halfway down the hall there was a glass cabinet meant to hold fancy china, but it instead displayed a few hundred DVDs. Dean slowed down to look at the titles, smiling when he recognised movies he’d missed at the theatres, or had forgotten to buy when they came out. “Oh, hey,” he chirped, “ _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_! The original! I had a few episodes of that on VHS, no idea where it went. I think my friend Sammy borrowed it a few years ago.”

“Sammy... Is that the friend who works answering phones at your firm?”

“Yeah. He’s a total nerd, you’d like him.”

“I’m sure I would.”

Dean moved on quickly, embarrassed to be observed snooping in other people’s cabinets right in front of his real estate agent. “You get nosy, don’t you, Cas?” Dean asked, making his way to the master bedroom. “All these houses, all the junk people leave lying around. You must see some noteworthy doodads.”

“I’ve seen a lot,” Castiel confirmed. “I won’t condemn you for poking around, but—”

Dean whistled a long note, interrupting Castiel. “Well bloooow _me_ ,” Dean sang. The master bedroom was a complete mess. One frilly lampshade was switched on already, brightening up what could only be described as an _explosion_ of clothes. Dean grinned, pinching a pair of ladies’ panties from the top of the dresser mirror. “Boy,” he uttered. “My money’s on the owners not knowing their realtor was showing someone around today.”

Castiel bristled. “Oh, don’t tell me, your bedroom is pristine at all times.”

“Not when I’m rifling through my wardrobe looking for something, but otherwise? Damn right it is.” Dean handed Castiel the panties, and Castiel put them right back where Dean had found them.

“Maybe the person who lives here was trying everything on,” Castiel said bluntly. “Maybe they had a date. Or an important meeting. And they wanted to look their best.”

Dean chuckled, stepping over a noodling rainbow of neckties that seemed to have slithered halfway across the carpet before giving up. “Don’t know how anyone’s meant to look good wearing these,” he remarked, picking up a tan trenchcoat, holding it up to himself for size, then putting it back. “When did these people last go shopping, 1980?”

“Two weeks ago,” Castiel said firmly. He strode up to Dean and snatched a pair of lacy briefs from his hands. “Dean, I agree it’s reasonable to be nosy, but you cannot just put your _paws_ on everything. Have some _damn_ respect.”

“Whoa, hey, sorry.” Dean’s grin vanished, and he suddenly felt guilty. “Jeez, I thought we were—”

“I don’t care. You’re here to see the house.” Castiel tossed the briefs onto the pile of clothes on the bed, and turned away with barely-hidden ire darkening his expression. “Do you like the bedroom, yes or no? Good enough, okay, let’s go.” He took Dean by the shirtsleeve and dragged him back into the hallway, to the next door along. “Bedroom two, slash office. Computer, shelves full of vintage garden gnomes, an original painting of a bumblebee – they’re my favourite kind of bee, incidentally – a broken desk chair – view of the front yard. Look, there’s your car. Hasn’t been stolen; it’s a good neighbourhood.”

Still scowling, Castiel gripped Dean by the arm and dragged him back out of the office. “Bathroom. Yes, it’s actually orange, that’s not just the light. You have to hold the toilet flush down for two-and-a-half seconds before it does anything. One of the lightbulbs over the mirror needs changing. Oh look, a dead bug, don’t look at that.”

Castiel stormed out, leaving Dean dazed, helpless except to look at the dead bug.

“Dean!”

Dean hurried out after Castiel, following him to the stairs, going up.

“You know what—” Castiel stopped halfway up the stairs. “You go on ahead, I’m sure you know what you’re looking for by now.” The venom in his voice was unmistakable, and Dean was so intimidated that he didn’t pause to think, he just obeyed, ascending the stairs alone.

The upstairs bedroom was empty. Small, cosy. Sloped roof, made of unpainted wood.

The single window overlooked the back garden, and Dean felt a flicker of delight as he saw the garden had a large oak tree in it, and a swing draped from one of its largest branches, its ropes highlighted by the silver of the moon. It wasn’t a kids’ swing, either, it seemed like it could take the weight of a full-grown man.

Taking a deep, deep breath, Dean turned to look properly at the empty bedroom. Half of it had been wallpapered in delicate pink-and-white stripes, and a wallpaper roll sat resting on the floor, leaning against a tray of paste. Dean approached and crouched down. The paste wasn’t merely dry, it was _dusty_. It hadn’t been touched in years.

Dean started to feel... sad. What happened here? How could a project have begun with such promise and ended so abruptly? Why was this bedroom empty?

Dean stood and eased closer to the wallpaper. He hadn’t known what he’d see, but he almost regretted looking.

The faintest pattern was visible in the paper, and it looked like baby rattles, and a stork carrying a bundle.

Oh, no.

Dean swallowed. He felt sick, and uneasy. He’d never known a house filled with so much joy and sadness all at once. There was personality and passion in the walls, but it ended right here. This room was a severed limb of loss.

Dean turned the light off and shut the door as he left the third bedroom. Every sense in him had become dull and somber.

Castiel sat near the bottom of the stairs, his back to Dean, head in his hands. The only light came from the floor below.

Dean went down to him. Without really knowing why, or caring to stop himself, Dean touched his fingers to the back of Castiel’s head. The touch became a caress, and as Dean sat, his hand held the back of Castiel’s shoulder.

“This house,” Castiel said, his voice thick, eyes downcast. “This house was never meant to be shown to... buyers.”

Dean’s eyebrows twitched closer together. His hand slid down Castiel’s arm until Dean’s hands met on his own lap. “Then why show it to me?”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder. “I thought you’d like it.”

Dean looked back at the closed door of the third bedroom. “I do like it,” he said, even as he felt the weight of sadness in his heart. He looked back at Castiel. “I love it, actually.”

“Me too,” Castiel muttered. “I’ve been enamoured with it from the moment I first saw it. In the time it’s been part of my life, I’ve... I’ve somehow come to love it. I don’t think I could ever let it go, now.”

“Yeah.” Dean pressed his lips together in a softly sympathetic way. “Yeah, there’s a couple things in my life I feel that way about. P— People, even.”

Castiel took his glasses off to wipe his eyes with the back of one hand. He sniffed, then put his glasses back on.

“You all right?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, but Dean didn’t believe him.

“Come on,” Castiel said, getting to his feet. “There’s still the downstairs to look at.”

Dean descended a few steps behind, then caught up and walked beside Castiel except in narrow spaces. They returned to the first floor, and Castiel led the way to the kitchen.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said softly, as they entered the living room and Castiel switched on three floor lamps, one after another. “Sorry about getting all touchy-feely with the girls’ underwear. That was... kinda gross. Maybe don’t tell the owners I did that. Or do. Make sure they wash everything I touched, I dunno.”

“I can say with certainty that the owner doesn’t mind you touching his things, Dean.” Castiel didn’t look at Dean directly, but stood, gazing at Dean’s socks. “It’s the way you— I don’t know.” Castiel touched his forehead, running fingers back through his hair. “I didn’t realise you hated colourful clothes so much.”

Dean raised one eyebrow. “Wait, are you mad about the tie?” His shoulders slumped, and he gave a quiet chuckle. “Cas, no offence, I’m just not a bright-yellow-tie kinda guy. I swear to you, I tried to make the one you gave me work with what I had. I wore freaking _suspenders_ for a week.”

“I noticed.” Castiel fiddled with the end of his own tie, turning it twice, obviously in the midst of realising he’d put it on backwards. He let it go, and sighed, looking up at Dean. Dean thought Castiel seemed particularly frail, which was unsettling to see. “I thought you looked radiant in that outfit, Dean. Blue shirt with a white collar; navy-blue suspenders, yellow tie.” He smiled at the memory, one side of his mouth rising higher. “You looked handsome.”

“Radiant? _Handsome_?! What, the clown suspenders get you goin’ or somethin’?” Dean asked, swaying his hips forward without really thinking about it.

Dean didn’t expect Castiel to lower his eyes, blushing. “ _No_ ,” Castiel said with childish force.

Dean’s lips parted. “Huh,” he said, ponderously.

Castiel folded his arms. Then he unfolded them, looking away. “Anyway, this is the living room. Doesn’t get used much. Maybe if there were more people living here it would get used.”

He wandered off, and Dean wavered before following.

Castiel led Dean into a kitchen with a sloped glass roof, dirtied and darkened by decades of moss and lichen growth. It was still beautiful, perhaps because of the flora-dominated view. Dean still saw moonlight and the boughs of the oak tree through the speckles. He was so captivated by the sight, and the fact this kind of grand spectacle was in the _kitchen_ that he took some time to realise Castiel had left the house.

“Cas?” Dean looked around, and quickly spotted an open door. He went through, feeling actual, proper _joy_ at his discovery of an enclosed conservatory garden just beyond the house’s back wall. Strawberries, tomatoes, potatoes in raised waist-height garden boxes— Dean wanted to hang around and take it all in, but Castiel had gone further ahead, opening up another door to the outside.

Dean took the glass door from Castiel’s hand before it could close by itself. He and Castiel stepped into the back yard, socked feet on squishy summer grass.

“Over here,” Castiel said, leading Dean under the oak tree, on a gentle downward slope.

Dean was maddened by the rush. His heart couldn’t take this. He was mesmerised, by the place, by the feeling. This felt like someone’s home, but that someone was... him. Him with different things, different memories, a different lifetime. Like a song with a run of notes just a tad too catchy, he wasn’t sure if he’d been here before, or if this was all new.

“Cas, wait up,” Dean muttered, scrambling down stone steps, tiptoeing from one lilypad-shaped paving slab to the next. Castiel had gone ahead, as though he could walk this path with his eyes closed. Dean didn’t know how many times Cas had visited this house, but hell, if Dean was a realtor with unrestricted access, he’d probably drop by once a day. No wonder Cas knew the way.

Castiel approached a waist-high fence. He set both hands on the top and peered over the other side. Then he moved along a few feet and looked again. This had to be the border of the property: the seeding grass stalks curved against blue fence panels like sea waves rebounding off lighthouse rocks, and the fence extended far into the dark. Even in moonlight, Dean couldn’t see the end.

“Oh, there you are,” Castiel said, his voice cheerful. “I was looking for you.”

“What?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked back. “I wasn’t talking to you. Come and say hello.”

Dean blinked.

“I’m talking to you _now_ , Dean. Come here.”

Apprehensive and confused, Dean approached. He looked over the fence at whatever Castiel was looking at—

A dog sat there. It let out a gentle huff while Castiel scritch-scritch-scritched at the top of his head. Dean stared for a second. He recognised this dog. This was an elderly, droopy-eared basset hound he’d recently had the unexpected pleasure of meeting...

“Button?” Dean asked.

Button went “ _boof_ ”.

Dean’s eyes turned upward to Castiel. “I thought— Button was your neighbour’s dog.”

Castiel looked back, with a twinkle in his eye which was equal parts mysterious and mischievous.

Dean took a sudden breath. “This is your place,” he said, in realisation. “You just showed me around your own house.”

All feeling seemed to have suspended within him, both physical and emotional. He felt floaty and distant, even though he still sensed dew seeping into his socks.

Consciously, Dean supposed he ought to have felt elation, because he’d been presented with something beautiful. Excitement, because Castiel had all but implied he potentially wanted to offer Dean a home here. Or maybe Dean should’ve laughed, because he’d been punked, albeit in the bizarre way that only a bespectacled waistcoat-and-backwards-tie-wearing realtor could pull off.

But Dean just felt numb, and concerned, and – scared.

“What happened here, Cas?” Dean asked, almost in a whisper. His gaze moved to the house, which stood proud and majestic with its lights on in the dark. Back to Castiel now. “The upstairs bedroom.” Dean shook his head, chest aching, fingers throbbing. “What happened?”

Castiel stopped petting Button. He froze for a moment, then brought his hand back to his own side of the fence. “I—” A frown. A tensed fist. He tried to speak again but words failed him, and he had to swallow.

Dean saw his lower lip tense, and he felt terrible.

“I think you should go,” Castiel said. “Please.”

“Cas, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“This isn’t how I meant things to happen, Dean,” Castiel said. His voice had become strained, eyes sometimes glaring, sometimes avoiding contact. “You need to leave.”

“Hey. Now wait just a damn second, buddy, you can’t just show me your perfect goddamn house and then boot me out for no good reason—”

“I can and I _will_ ,” Castiel said, squaring his shoulders before Dean. “This house is not for sale, and will _never_ be for sale. I wanted—” An expression of anguish crossed his face, and his voice lost its force. “I wanted to share this space, Dean. I’ve wanted that for so long. I thought...”

He trailed off, then sighed, hanging his head. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake. I thought I could be suave, for once in my life.” He offered a flatline smile, but there was no happiness in it. “I thought I might be able to use a... a ‘pickup line’, something silly I thought up last month.”

Dean couldn’t help his curiosity. “Yeah? What was it?”

Castiel snorted, hands cupping his elbows, arms folded across his middle. “This house isn’t for sale. Buh—” He gulped, and his smile came up wry. “But there’s a vacancy in the bed if you want it.”

Dean smirked, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Cute.”

“I thought so.”

“You don’t want to follow through?”

“No.” Castiel’s eyes focused so far away that his face turned to follow.

“Uh. Alright.” Dean tried to ignore his tripping heart. “Okay. Super. Guess I’ll, uh. Head off then.”

“Right.”

“S-See you around?”

Their eyes met; Castiel’s irises were shocked silver by dappled moonlight, filtered through the oak leaves.

“Next Thursday,” Castiel said, his tone cool and professional. “My office. There’s always more houses. I’ll find you something better.”

Dean wished he could’ve hopped back in time by ten seconds. He would rather have gone home without asking if he’d ever see Castiel again, leave it to fate or chance whether they’d run into each other in the future. Instead, now Dean held in his mind the impartial tone of the words ‘ _something better_ ’, and their significance was soul-crushing.

Castiel turned and walked up the path, heading for the house without another word. Button barked after him, but the dog was awarded no more attention from his neighbour.

Just from this exchange, just from knowing what he was missing now it was gone, Dean was certain. There was no better man than Castiel, not in Dean’s world. And there was no better home than this house.

A home was not only a feeling, and not only a place. It had to be both, and so much more.

 _This_ whole place gave Dean a feeling deep inside, a sensation of comfort and satisfaction that he’d searched for for what seemed like forever. It fit him just right. And now, even as Castiel retreated to his house and shut the glass door behind him, Dean felt conscious awareness rearing its head.

This ought to be Dean’s home. _Castiel_ , somehow, should be home too. A place. A feeling. Combined, they were so much more.

_I’ll find you something better._

No. There _was_ nothing better. _This_ was what Dean wanted. It hurt beyond anything Dean had ever felt that Castiel didn’t yet realise what they’d become.

**· · · · · ♥ · · · · ·**

One deep, _deep_ breath.

Dean let it all go, fogging up the ornate hallway mirror for a split-second. He was about as ready as he’d ever be.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he uttered to himself. “Chin up, kid.”

He entered Castiel’s office cautiously. There was Castiel, already at the desk. The cloudy skies outside seemed to have infected him; he was subdued, eyes glazed, staring vaguely at his hands on his desk. He wore a grey pinstriped waistcoat, which – while looking fantastic on him – warned Dean that Castiel’s mood left something to be desired.

Dean closed the door, and the sound of it clicking shut disturbed Castiel from his reverie. He looked up, startled.

“Dean,” he said, with a half-smile. He stood, offering out a hand.

Dean hadn’t shaken Castiel’s hand in months. He took it anyway, but simply squeezed. Castiel squeezed back. They held on for a couple of seconds before Castiel flustered and sat down, taking back his hand only afterwards.

“Um,” he said.

Dean pulled up a chair, put down his satchel, and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

Castiel sighed, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “Dean,” he began, then stopped, halfway through a breath.

They both knew there was too much to express, and it all needed to be said eventually. Getting started was the hardest part.

“Firstly—” Castiel found his courage, and leaned forward to speak. “I have to apologise. I overstepped my bounds last time we met, to the point of questionable legality. I’m a professional _realtor_ , Dean. There are unwritten rules; I’m not supposed to take you to my own house and show you my bedroom, especially not without telling you first. Even if I wasn’t a realtor that was still terrible. I—” His words choked him, but he managed to continue only with his eyes cast away and his voice small. “I tried to seduce you while on the job, and I regret that I even _considered_ doing so. Yes, I consider you to be more than a client. You’re my friend. But even so. It was wrong of me.”

Dean sat with his lips parted, a simmer of shock tumbling through him, back and forth like a tidal wave trapped in a harbour.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” Castiel finished, holding his own hands on the desktop. “If you’d rather take this issue up with the National Association, I would understand.”

Dean huffed out a smile. “Cas, I’m not gonna do that.”

“Please don’t feel obligated to protect me,” Castiel pleaded, meeting Dean’s eyes in a solemn way. “I’m so utterly disgusted at myself, I’m—”

“I would’ve said yes,” Dean interrupted, raising his voice to be heard over Castiel.

Castiel gaped around unsaid words. He stuttered, then rasped, “What?”

“I would’ve said yes,” Dean repeated. His gaze lowered to his lap, and he licked his lips. “If you’d gone through with your dorky realtor pickup line, I’d’ve let you undress me, right there in your backyard.”

When Dean looked up, he saw Castiel struggling to downplay his astonishment. Relief and intrigue were at war on his face, but his shoulders were still tense.

“Oh,” Castiel voiced, after a long pause. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I— I mean okay, as in, ‘oh, okay’, not okay as in _okay_ —”

“I get it, Cas.”

“Hrmh.” Castiel gulped hard and glared at his own clasped hands, eyebrows drawing close.

Dean felt the need to push onwards, to save Castiel from his own awkwardness. “This meeting,” Dean urged, “are we just here to talk about _us_ , or...?”

Dean hoped Castiel would bring up the subject of his own house without further prompting. As things looked now, if Castiel had truly retracted his offer to let Dean share his bed, then – as disappointing as that would be – it did mean they were back on the hunt for another property.

“There is something I would like to discuss,” Castiel uttered. “That being the matter of my third floor bedroom.”

Dean’s stomach flipped. Curiosity buzzed in his head, but human decency won out for the right to speak first. “Cas, if it’s a difficult subject, you don’t have to.”

Castiel drew in a tight breath. “I, um.” He frowned, but it cleared quickly. “I want to. I want to talk about it.”

Dean wondered if he wanted to hear it, though.

Castiel pressed his lips together and leaned back in his chair. He took off his glasses and folded them up, setting them on the desk beside him. “I grew up in that house. It was my adoptive parents’ home, I moved in when I was seven.”

“Cool place to grow up, huh.”

“The best,” Castiel smiled. “I built the swing myself. The bathroom tiles were a design choice I made as a teenager— In my defense, they were in fashion at the time.”

Dean could’ve assured Castiel that no, the tiles weren’t as ugly as all that, and hey, they suited the house, but he couldn’t stretch the truth _quite_ that far.

Castiel smiled in a reserved way, then let out a sigh. “When my parents passed on, I was only just old enough to inherit the house. The obvious thing to do would’ve been to sell it; lawyers told me I should. I refused. I did rent it to other people for a number of years, while I lived in smaller, less exciting residences.”

By this point Dean had forgotten this tale was about the upstairs bedroom. He leaned both arms on the desk, listening, with a pleasant, comforted feeling inside him. Castiel nearly always spoke in monotone, and whenever he spoke at length it was easy to zone out – not because what he said was uninteresting, but because the modulation of his voice was permanently set to ‘bedtime story’. Dean fought to absorb the meaning of his words, not his tone.

“I moved back in after I graduated my realtor’s course,” Castiel said. “I made a small fortune selling someone else’s house for the first time. Really, I’d never meant to become a real estate agent, I just took the course because I wanted to snoop in strangers’ houses and I didn’t know what else to study.”

Dean smirked. Castiel had told him parts of this before; Dean had long been thrilled by tales of a young and bewildered Castiel, fresh out of high school, newly bespectacled and newly re-orphaned, living out of hostels, trying his hand at everything from pottery to stock-car racing to accounting.

“It wasn’t a massive fortune, but for a young person it felt like a lifetime’s supply of money. I didn’t know what to do with it. So I invested it in my parents’ old house; the conservatory first. As the years passed and I sold more and more houses, I realised I enjoyed the process, and a money-making hobby I’d taken up to pass the time had become a true passion of mine. But of all the houses I ever visited, I loved mine the most.”

“As it should be,” Dean said.

“As it should be,” Castiel repeated. “Yes.”

He became quiet, and turned slightly in his chair, chin angled towards the overcast sky out of the window. He sighed. “But... I know you understand the feeling; you’ve described it to me: soon enough, I realised I w— I wanted a family. _Needed_ one, even; I was so terribly lonely. I thought perhaps I could raise a child, someday.”

Dean’s stomach began to electrify with anxiety. He remembered the shock of realising the pattern on the pink wallpaper was meant for a baby’s nursery. An unfinished room, abandoned abruptly. For the full week just gone, Dean had held in his mind the obvious conclusion: there had been a baby, then there wasn’t. The reasons for such a thing disturbed him, unsettling him to his core.

“It almost happened, Dean,” Castiel said weakly. “For about two months of my life, I had a daughter.”

He swallowed hard, and the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed fiercely. Dean felt the same rock in his back of his mouth, making it near-impossible to breathe.

“What happened?” Dean asked, whispering. He didn’t want to know. But he couldn’t go on _not_ knowing.

Castiel let go of a breath. “A friend of mine, a young woman – she came to my house in tears one night, confessing to me she was pregnant. Her parents were conservative people, they couldn’t know she’d copulated out of wedlock, nor so young.”

“Wait, how old—”

“Sixteen,” Castiel said.

Dean hesitated, then asked, “Please tell me you weren’t the father.”

Castiel looked Dean in the eye, stunned. “Me? How— _Why_ would it be me— Dean, I’m gay. _What_?! No!”

Dean exhaled and looked down. He wished he could conceal his show of relief but the lightness of it sat in and around him like a sparkling miasma.

Castiel pressed on, now with a tone of offended suspicion. “We talked all night, she asked me to keep the baby after it was born. That’s all.”

“No abortion?”

Castiel shook his head. “I tried to convince her, but I didn’t try especially hard. She grew up being taught the usual things; contraceptives are the devil’s work, abortion is murder. She’d lain with her friend in an act of love and rebellion, and had set aside the potential consequences without realising they might actually come to pass. She was scared – terrified, you can imagine – but she was willing to follow through.”

“Brave girl.”

“The bravest,” Castiel agreed. “Perhaps I’d have been better off if she’d not been so brave, actually.”

“Oh?”

Castiel pressed his lips together, fingers reaching to fiddle with his folded glasses. “She told her parents what she and her friend had done. She told them she was pregnant. I wasn’t there, I don’t know what happened. But for months I didn’t see her, I couldn’t find her to contact her. Then out of nowhere, I got a telephone call from the girl’s mother. I was—” Castiel trembled, “I was summoned to the hospital. I was there as my friend gave birth.”

Now Dean’s eyes prickled with tears; Castiel sniffed, wiping his own eyes. Dean didn’t know what was coming, but if it hurt Cas, it hurt Dean too.

Castiel finally managed to express the next part of his story. “The girl and the baby’s father had gotten married. I believe the parents talked them into it. But the young couple still wanted me to take the baby. Even the parents agreed, somehow. I don’t know why they agreed; I wouldn’t have, in their position. It must’ve made sense to them at the time. They must’ve had a reason.”

“So... then what?”

“I was allowed to visit every day,” Castiel smiled. “I named her. Little baby Heaven.”

Castiel’s expression faltered again. “If you’ve ever held a baby, you know how captivating they are,” he said softly. “You know they only look at people with trust and innocence, you can’t help but love them. And I did love her, I loved her immediately and I’ve loved her since. Since baby Heaven was promised to me, I was busy preparing for her life. While her mother breastfed her, I stocked up on baby food for infants. I had a bassinet, soft toys—” He ran his hand over his mouth. “I was decorating the third floor bedroom as a nursery.”

Dean reached across the table and took Castiel’s hand. Castiel held on.

“It all seemed so undramatic,” Castiel said vaguely, eyes drifting to the carpet a few feet away. “They were all so resigned to the fact they’d changed their minds, I don’t think they considered how their choice would ruin me. It’s funny, isn’t it. All throughout the pregnancy, the whole family saw the baby as a burden, something they’d resentfully give up their lives for. In the end, after two months of care, they tell me they love her now, they couldn’t _bear_ to give her away. They assumed Heaven would be a burden for me too. They never thought— Th-They never thought I’d longed for someone to devote myself to.”

Dean held Castiel’s hand with both of his own, stroking him. He shook his head, unable to think of any words that could make it better.

Part of Dean, a cruel, thoughtless part, considered that it wasn’t so bad. Dean had expected worse. He’d thought Castiel had a wife who died, or a child who passed away. But it wasn’t like that. The truth wasn’t better, just different. Castiel was distraught. He’d been promised something – a person, a human soul – and that promised gift would’ve changed his life. Yet, baby Heaven’s absence had changed Castiel’s life anyway; the breaking of that promise had left him in mourning for years. And this _was_ years ago, Dean knew it.

“She’s turning thirteen this year,” Castiel said quietly.

“You’ve seen her?”

Castiel gave a bitter “ _ha_ ,” then explained, “I tried. I went back every day, but they told me I was getting in the way. I said I wanted to help, but they gave me jobs that took me outside the house, and I rarely got to see Heaven. I went back once a week, in case that was an appropriate amount of times to visit. I thought I had some right to be there. But then the family moved house without telling me.”

Dean’s heart dropped.

“I desperately looked them up. It was the first time I came close to breaking the law; I used my contacts in the real estate world to find out where they went. I found the landline number for their new home. But I hung up the phone on the last ring. I couldn’t do it, Dean. They made it clear they didn’t want me around. Their actions were turning me into a stalker, and I hated that they’d brought out a dark side in me.”

Dean thought to himself that perhaps the sneaky, manipulative side of Cas stuck around, considering his curtailed attempt at seduction last week. At least Cas knew his actions were morally dubious and stopped before he followed through.

Castiel sighed, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “Anyway. Here I am, nearing my forties, sad and childless. I wake up every day and I feel... desperately lonely. There’s so much that could’ve been. My house was always meant for a thriving family, not one bachelor. I can’t move on. I’ll never move on. I won’t unless something changes. Something big.”

Dean gave his hand one more squeeze. “That’s why you got so chummy with me, huh?”

Castiel snorted, guilty and embarrassed. “I relate to you, I think. You’re emotionally stunted but trying hard to open up. Parentless, siblingless, childless; single as a primordial cell. Reasonably successful in business, yet empty and drifting in the heart department, with no clue what you want in life. You’re a mess, but you hide it incredibly well. And I mean you no offence when I say that. It’s the truth.”

“Hey, no offence taken,” Dean said, while a little was taken.

“I find you so very charming, Dean,” Castiel confessed, watching his own fingers stretch to stroke Dean’s. “I always want to impress you. I wish I could relax and simply be your friend, not your realtor. I want to be content knowing you like me, and you’re not coming to me only because I can do something for you. Whenever I can’t find you the perfect house, I start worrying I’m annoying you, and you’ll leave to get yourself a different agent. And at the same time, what if I _do_ find you the right house? A percentage of your money goes to me, as our contract states – and then what? Would we ever speak again, or will you disappear to your new home like Heaven’s family did?”

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere,” Dean said, letting Castiel hold his hand, fingers linking together. “Look what we’re doing right here, Cas. You show me a client who lets his realtor fondle his hand during a meeting, and I’ll show you a man with a crush bigger than a whole damn house. Yeah, I like you. A hell of a lot. Don’t ever doubt it.”

Castiel chuckled, head down.

Dean’s smile slowly faded.

He looked up, and saw Castiel looking back.

“One thing,” Dean said, in a zap of realisation.

“Hm?”

“If you’re gay, and there wasn’t some other girl – ever? – then—”

“There’ve been no men, either,” Castiel added. “Suffice to say, I’m not a social creature.”

Dean shrugged a shoulder, eyes calculating. “So that frilly underwear you had all over your bedroom...?”

Castiel’s face blanked. Then he laughed, leaning back in his chair. His hand slid from Dean’s grip to pat his stomach, and still he chuckled, deep lines carved out around his mouth, wrinkling his stubble. He eventually sat forward again, beaming.

Dean blushed. “It’s all yours, isn’t it?”

Castiel tilted his head playfully. “Have you never tried wearing lingerie?”

Dean’s eyes darted to the closed door of the office, then back to the table as he blushed furiously. “I didn’t— Was one time, I mean—”

“Trust me, it improves a bad day,” Castiel assured Dean, in a more serious way. “I find the fit is most important. All the security of having everything nicely tucked in, all the comfort of a soft fabric.”

Dean, with his flaming-hot face, managed to add, “Ah-And they’re reallykindapretty too, right? I mean, since we’re on the subject, you’d probably look really cutegood handsome wearin’ it or whatever. Uh. Hmm.”

He put his chin down and refused to look up. Dean could _hear_ Castiel smiling, even over the pounding of his heartbeat in his probably-smoking ears.

“I do like how they look on me, it’s true,” Castiel said, not even attempting to conceal his amusement.

Dean bit his lip softly, his mind flooded with imaginings of Castiel’s clothing stripped down halfway, with just a peek of lacy fabric showing over his belt. Dean battled away the rising feeling of arousal; there were more important things to discuss.

“Cas,” he said, resisting the vocal waver that tried to creep in. “Cas, listen... I gotta say somethin’.”

Castiel listened.

“You said your piece earlier, apologising for trying to get into my pants,” Dean said. “If I hadn’t asked for your backstory and freaked you out, who knows where things would’ve gone last week. But—” He bowed his head, licking his lips. “I get it, man. One mistake on the job can destroy everything.

“But this ain’t just about professionalism. This is personal. Cas— You’ve said... You’ve said there hasn’t been anyone in your life. Romantically, sexually, et cetera. I don’t know if you mean recently, or since you were young, or ever. But look, that little bit of trivia? That’s important. I get that you’re into me. Not gonna lie, I’m— I’m freakin’ head-over-heels for you too, no two ways about it.”

Castiel’s ears went pink. Dean tried not to meet his eyes, but they met anyway.

“This whole deal, it isn’t just about us,” Dean said. “Or some contract we signed half a year back. This is about everything. _Everything_ , Cas, up to and including the fact that— Dammit.” Dean’s eyes fell shut. After a few seconds, he looked back at Castiel. “Including the fact that, your house? Three bedrooms, one bathroom, and an oak tree in the backyard? That’s the one. That’s the place I’ve been looking for.”

Castiel’s eyes began to widen, but Dean’s couldn’t tell if it was because of confusion or realisation.

“And you.” Dean’s lip quivered, but he pushed through. “You’re the feeling.”

Castiel’s gaze remained steady. He must’ve known all along.

Dean spoke coolly, trying to remain poised, and as impartial as he could be. “In theory, you could be wildly in love with me right now. And maybe the feeling’s mutual, who knows. That’s one thing. But – and I’m not judging you here – if you really haven’t been with _anyone_ , short- or long-term, and you’re not sure about changing that? Recipe for disaster.” A small, insecure smile twitched on Dean’s lips. “I don’t want my heart broken, Cas. I’ve been there, done that. Yeah, I might not get over you or your house for a while, but...” he sighed silently, “let’s face it – it’s better we end this now than tomorrow, or next week, three months, or ten years, when it’ll hurt a whole lot more.”

Castiel frowned. “End? Why are you sure our relationship would end?”

Dean shook his head. “I’m not saying it will. Or that I want it to. But, if this is your first-ever relationship – God, I need you to _be sure_ before we start something. I don’t wanna hear the world’s best pickup line and then get sent home alone. I don’t wanna hear a dial tone if I pick up on the last ring. I don’t wanna move in and start decorating the third floor bedroom only to find out you’ve changed your mind about living with me.” Dean sucked on his bottom lip, then added, knowing it would sting but saying it anyway: “I think you know better than anyone how much it hurts when someone changes their mind last-minute.”

Castiel averted his eyes, his face blank.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, because he was. “But this is a two-way street, Cas. We both need something, and my needs include longevity. It was always top of the list. You wrote it down in our first meeting, you remember?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean took a deep breath, the exhaled. “Okay.” He nodded too. “So that’s the deal. All or nothing, I guess. If I move in with you, my house-hunt is over.” Dean hesitated. “That’s what you meant with your pickup line, right? We live together? That’s what you wanted?” When Dean didn’t get a response, he tried to prompt it. “You— You got anything you need to say?”

Castiel sucked his lips between his teeth, then shook his head.

“Oh.” Dean scratched his neck. “I thought you would.”

“I need to think about this, Dean,” Castiel muttered quietly. “This is the breaker. There’s no going into this slowly, there’s no trying things on for size. I’m either your realtor or— Or I’m something else entirely. And I’ll be that for a very long time. No middle ground.”

“Yeah.”

Dean couldn’t imagine taking it slowly, waiting a few more months, inviting Cas for sit-down dates. They’d been on weekly or bi-weekly stand-up-and-walk-around dates for six months now, in essence. They’d exchanged gifts and compliments and advice and coupons for the best brand of orange juice. They’d mostly talked about the future, and their pasts, and their homes and their loves and hopes and dreams and fears. It was all done in the name of client and agent relations, narrowing down Dean’s list of what he was looking for in a home. But in truth, they’d been courting. Orbiting. Slowly, ever so slowly colliding.

If, after this long, Castiel still wasn’t ready to strike a match and start something, then maybe they’d be better off apart.

Everything Dean had ever felt for Castiel burned bright in him right now. He was sure it was possible to feel more, to love more, but at this moment in time, he’d never felt more for anyone, ever. It frightened him just as much as it thrilled him. His words had already spilled forth, and now they couldn’t be taken back, so next came the climax. Quietly, in an understated way.

_Your house is the place I’ve been looking for. And you. You’re the feeling._

Although Castiel couldn’t answer right away, Dean tried not to be insulted; he supposed Cas just needed more time. Sometimes he froze up and couldn’t think. This was not the moment for impatience, so Dean let him be. He stepped out from behind his chair and went around the desk, giving Castiel a soft-hand touch on his bicep.

“If you want, I’ll come by sometime,” Dean promised. “Here, or your house. Let me know.”

He let his hand graze Castiel’s arm as he moved away.

Castiel was too lost in thought to reply. Dean almost felt bad for needing this, asking Cas to give up his time, share his space, devote himself completely. Yes, Castiel had offered exactly the same thing before backing out in panic, but maybe he simply needed a chance to offer again.

Dean discarded his guilt. He’d made his needs clear from the start. If Castiel had developed feelings for Dean despite knowing he’d have to contend with the trickiest of criteria, it was only fair Dean reminded him.

Granted, Dean’s initial requirements had been for houses, not people. But it happened that Dean applied the same prerequisites to both. He’d said as much aloud, perhaps four months ago. Castiel had laughed upon hearing Dean say so, and then said he felt the same. Dean’s homes and partners had to support him in his times of need, and not fall to pieces when things got tough. Maybe both might need more careful maintenance than first expected, but like Dean, Castiel was okay with that, so long as everyone involved was aware of how much he was able to provide.

They’d gone on for a while, comparing friends to framework. But the point was, Dean and Castiel stood on level foundations ever since the beginning. Understanding each other’s needs went far beyond talk of property and finances; Dean only realised now, as he left Castiel’s office, that it was possible he knew more about Castiel than nearly anyone else, and he’d learned it all without even trying.

And, yeah, he loved him. It wasn’t a big flash-bang-wow moment. Dean just sighed and accepted it with a happy smile as he closed the door behind him. So _this_ was what being in love felt like. Odd, floaty, and satisfying. Love was also anxious, and more than a little soul-hungry.

Dear _God_ , Dean didn’t know what he’d do if Castiel turned him down now. Mourn for thirteen years? That seemed like a possibility. And yet Castiel would be well within his rights to do what he liked; Dean was asking too much of him and he knew it.

Couldn’t they just try it? Couldn’t they just... make out, see if they liked each other’s taste? Try-before-you-buy, sort of thing.

Dean felt ridiculous now. Here he was, standing vacuously in the middle of the marble hallway, his mind delayed, lingering in the office. Why did he have to give an ultimatum when he didn’t need to? Why did it seem so important to skip straight from friendly acquaintances to cohabiting long-term couple? Who even _did_ that?!

And to top it all off, Dean had forgotten his satchel.

Dean shut his eyes and let his shoulders drop. He turned in place and slunk back to the door of Castiel’s office, too preoccupied with his own failings to knock before opening it.

Dean entered, and his gaze fell upon his tired, bothered looking realtor. Castiel leaned his rear against the edge of his desk, legs stretched out with his shoes flat on the floor. Both his palms held his cheeks, nose poking out between his hands.

Castiel sighed at the sound of the door clicking shut. “Hrrgh. I don’t know why I let him _leave_ , Charlie. Every time I flake out, that’s exactly what he doesn’t want. He finally asked, he said he loved me back and I couldn’t _say_ anything. It was all scripted in my head, I just had to say ‘Yes, please move in with me, Dean’ and the rest would be history, but I froze up, I don’t know—” He let his hands drop, and his tired eyes landed on Dean.

Dean stood stock-still, one hand on his satchel.

They stared.

Without moving an inch, Castiel let go of a long, long breath.

Dean twitched, then licked his lips quickly. “Uh. Hi. I. Sort of. Forgot my bag.”

Castiel swallowed.

Dean lifted the strap of his bag a short way. He paused.

Then he let the bag strap go, and turned to Castiel instead. He eased up close, heart quickening; one hand cupped Castiel’s cheek and the other held his neck. They kissed.

Well, Dean kissed. Castiel remained as frozen as before.

Dean let go and backed up. “Okay. Okay. Nope. Not into it. That’s fine. It’s cool. I should’ve asked first. Sorry. I’m gonna go.” He picked up his bag strap again.

Castiel took the strap in his fist. “No— Please stay.”

Dean exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“I didn’t know what to do for a moment,” Castiel said. “But I do now.” His hand loosened, then slid up the strap to touch Dean’s. “Could you do it again?”

Body brimming with anticipation, Dean sank towards Castiel once more, both hands on his cheeks, fingers spread. Their mouths met; Castiel’s hands took Dean by the hair, his shoulders rising as full-body tension made him rise from the desk’s edge. “Mmh!” Castiel murmured into the kiss. Dean could feel his eyebrows lifting, apparently surprised by how kissing felt.

Castiel broke the kiss first, panting over Dean’s swelling pout. They took a moment to catch their breath, tiny smiles quirking up at the corners of their mouths as their eyes met, as their attention diverted back to each other’s lips, then making eye contact again.

“What—” Castiel breathed. “What are we now? What are we doing?”

“Hell if I know.” Dean’s fingertips touched Castiel’s lips, rose-petal soft. He exhaled, eyes drifting back to meet the other man’s gaze. “You tell me, Cas.”

Castiel trembled, then asked, “Are you moving in with me?”

Dean chuckled, head down. “If that’s what you want? And you’re sure about it?” He met Castiel’s eyes again. “Then, yeah.”

Castiel gulped hard, gaze focused sternly on Dean’s. Without warning, he took Dean by the back of the neck, yanking him in for another kiss. A hard kiss. A needy, determined kiss.

They slipped apart, huffing over each other’s lips.

Dean couldn’t be completely sure of Castiel’s agreement, since his kiss replaced words, but a kiss like that carried a lot of meaning, either way. He felt his skin prickling all over, all of him suspended in a state of maddened rapture, being so acutely aware that this was _Cas_ , with his butterscotch breath and tired eyebags, and a tiny patch of slightly longer stubble on his jawline that he’d missed while shaving. _Castiel_ , who was looking at Dean with the same marvel and wonder, eyes dark and wide and curious.

Really though, how could this be? It seemed shocking that this was real, that their hands were touching each other’s faces, their hips aligned, inhaling chests pressed together.

Castiel shut his eyes and gave Dean another soft kiss, sighing against him. Dean let him work up a tame rhythm against his lips. Castiel was just now learning what it was like to kiss Dean, and by his noises alone – pleased sighs, little hitches in his breath when the tingles hit him especially hard – he was beside himself with delight.

Dean backed up an inch, sucking his own bottom lip to feel how it had swelled. Castiel’s eyes were hooded now, his expression dazed. His lips stayed half-open, willing to accept another touch.

“Hmmm... Okay,” Dean murmured, smooching Castiel a few more times, losing himself to his warmth for a while. “We should probably – uhm...” The tangy scent of their saliva alone was starting to arouse him, something Dean had never thought possible. The tiniest spit bubble popped between their teeth and Dean actually felt sparkles descend through his soul. “We should stop for a minute. Talk about this.”

“Why?” Castiel responded. He kissed harder, rising from his place against the desk, pushing his hips on Dean’s. He held Dean’s head in his hands and spoke roughly against his lips. “I don’t want to stop. Do you?”

Dean hesitated. His eyes locked on Castiel’s – and without a word exchanged, Dean shook his head.

Oh, he felt a dirty kind of excitement, seeing how Castiel’s gaze darkened, his intentions shifting straight from experimental kisses to full-blown... full-blown something. Dean’s excitement doubled as he recognised he had no idea what Castiel was thinking. Dean felt strong hands glide down to his waist, taking the small of his back; he was pulled in, forced up against Castiel’s bulk. Dean looked down between their bodies only to find he couldn’t; there was no gap between them from their chests downwards.

Dean felt his heartbeat knocked by a second: Castiel’s pulse echoed his own, a moment delayed.

Castiel’s bristly face nestled itself under Dean’s ear; Dean gasped as he felt the scratch of stubble and a smooth, _rolling_ heat of kisses against his neck. Dean trembled, shutting his eyes, forgetting to feel ashamed as he whimpered out, “Ammhh...”

He was swelling in his pants now, and that _thrilled_ him. He wasn’t at home in bed, or in his shower – he was practically in _public_. Charlie might return at any moment. Dean wasn’t the only one enjoying the sensation, either. Castiel squirmed forward just enough, purposefully seeking out the feeling of having Dean’s erection touch him.

Dean was alarmed, suddenly, when he felt the twitch of Castiel’s penis against his thigh. Their dicks were having a conversation down there and Dean’s heart was racing at the knowledge. He stared bleary-eyed at the ceiling, where the crown moulding met the peeling purple wallpaper. Red flashes struck Dean’s vision as Castiel began to suck on his neck and he weakened all over, knees needing to press on the desk to stay strong.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, mouth slack. “Ah...”

Castiel put a kiss on Dean’s Adam’s apple. Then on his chin, then three more in a rapid path that led to his mouth. Dean couldn’t muster up the muscular coherence to kiss back; he let Castiel turn his head with a hand, parting and closing his lips with determined nips.

With an open-mouthed smirk, Castiel backed up, hands lifting from Dean and going to his own necktie. Dean watched, mesmerised, as Castiel undid his tie in short jerks, then whipped the thing away with a _shnip_!

Now Castiel’s shirt collar was half-folded, and Dean’s fingers sought to tidy it – but he got distracted on the way, and accidentally undid Castiel’s top button without properly realising. Clearly his hands had their own ideas.

Dean’s eyes snapped to Castiel’s. Castiel seemed perfectly content with Dean’s action – perhaps even expecting more. He tilted his head, waiting for Dean to undress him.

 _Oh_ , Dean thought. So that was what they were doing. He felt a self-conscious little smile quirk up one side of his face.

“W-We can’t do that here,” Dean imparted, voice thick. “‘S real unprofessional. Y’know? You’re gonna lose your job, Cas. We gotta—” He lowered his eyes. “We gotta go somewhere else if we wanna get handsy.”

Castiel’s warm hands cupped the backs of Dean’s elbows: a surprisingly elegant intimacy. “Where would you like to go?” he asked quietly.

Dean scoffed. “Where else? There’s a big ol’ house waiting for us, isn’t there?”

Castiel’s smile was one of knowing relief. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, there is.”

Dean leaned in and gave Cas a quick, hard kiss, fingers holding his chin. “You drive, I’ll follow. How ‘bout that?”

Castiel draped his tie behind Dean’s neck, pulling the ends to bring their faces closer. Dean admired Castiel’s twinkling eyes, and a smile just a bit too mischievous.

Castiel said nothing; he left Dean with the tie, then moved away to pick up his glasses. He put them on, and suddenly he became the unassuming realtor once again: scruffy-haired, squinty, perpetually baffled.

Still sexy though.

Even when he pulled on his trenchcoat.

**· · · · · ♥ · · · · ·**

Castiel unlocked the front door of his house – _their_ house – and a bicycle fell down into his path, one wheel spinning. His shoulders slumped, chin to his chest.

Dean just laughed behind him, one hand pressing Castiel’s back.

As Castiel moved to pick the contraption up, shoving it back behind the door, Dean remarked, “I’m sure there’s a relevant joke I could make here, but the punchline is escaping me...”

“About shoving an old bicycle back behind the door?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel managed to get the bike crammed in place, and he beckoned Dean into the entrance area. “What if we likened it to you? Refuses to stay locked in the closet.”

Dean snorted. “There it is. Bisexual falling in love.”

Castiel gave a sideways grin, reaching back to hold the nape of Dean’s neck, giving him a slow, steady kiss. Dean took his waist; Castiel ran his thumb upwards through the shortest hair behind Dean’s left ear.

One more kiss, and Castiel pulled back, amusement in his eyes. “You’ve changed so much since I first met you.”

“Have I?”

Castiel nodded. “You used to get very... flustered. And you’d avoid saying words like ‘love’. Even about good food. I’ll quote you, if I may: you’d say something delicious was ‘freaking delectable’, and ‘awesome’. You’d practically make out with a cookie-croissant hybrid while moaning, but you’d never say you love it.”

Dean ducked his head. He hadn’t realised he’d ever done such a thing, but he was sure it was true. Expressing real feelings in real words always made him stiffen up, to the point where his stomach physically clenched. Funnily enough, since he’d known Cas, and had watched him actively love everything in his life – from the plants in his office, to the pen he used to write checks, to the daily alternation of nature-themed backgrounds in the email program he used on his laptop – saying the word ‘love’ no longer seemed so difficult to Dean. It could be an easy word for him, in the right company.

“Is it strange for me to be proud of you?” Castiel asked, voice especially deep. He tilted his head, pondering. “I think you’ve come a long way in a relatively short amount of time.”

Dean tried hard not to fluster at that. He felt himself getting hot around the ears.

Castiel kissed Dean’s lips briefly. “Well, hello, shy smile. I hope that smirk of yours means you’re proud of yourself too. Are you?”

“Jeez,” Dean rasped, as his ability to project his voice failed him. “I express my feelings once and suddenly you’re all schmoopy.”

Castiel backed up a bit, though his arms remained draped over Dean’s shoulders. “Dean, I’ve _yearned_ to slather you with affection. Don’t tell me it’s not welcome...?”

“ _Slather_ ,” Dean repeated. He rolled his eyes. “Cas, the only thing I want you to slather me with is something sweet and edible.”

Castiel frowned.

Dean shut his eyes and squeezed them tight. Lest his fumbling ruin a relationship that had barely just begun, Dean forced himself to speak: “Okay. _Okay_ , be gross and affectionate if you want. Slather me with whatever. Yeah, I’m gonna complain, but—” He felt his lower lip wobble, and he licked it to hide the movement. His eyes peeked open, gazing at a collection of shoes in a heap by the open door.

Castiel finished for him, “But you adore it deep down, and you’ve craved the feeling. You want someone to love you openly, and unrestrainedly. In the most obvious way possible.”

Dean looked at Castiel, unsure how he could dare to put such a well-concealed truth into out-loud words. It just wasn’t... _allowed_.

“I say it because it’s true for me,” Castiel explained, though Dean hadn’t asked. “I’ve wanted someone to love me, someone I could love in return. All my life, Dean, I’ve had it and lost it. Two sets of parents have come and gone from my life, and a child, and friends, and there’s never been anyone else. Nobody who’s looked me in the eyes, and held me, and _promised_ they love me, and will continue to love me. Love always leaves or runs out for the people around me.”

Now Castiel looked down, his energy becoming quiet and reserved. “You need longevity,” he stated. “Me, I need openness. Reassurance. _Tell_ me how you feel about me. I need to know. Maybe it’s weak. But I need proof you love me. I’ve never been too convinced anyone cares about me. I know it’s silly. I _know_ it is. Charlie likes me, and my neighbours do. Button the dog certainly does. But _you_...” He shook his head, at a loss. “Despite what I try and make myself believe, I still can’t be content without reassurance.”

Dean held Castiel’s hand, cradling his knuckles. Cas had strong hands, each finger softly curled. Delicate.

Dean met his eyes and felt nothing but joy as he said, voice emerging directly from his heart: “Cas. Listen? I love you.”

Again, softer: “I _love_ you.”

He swallowed, shaking inside at the tenderness that took over Castiel’s expression. The man was vulnerable, more than words could say, more than Dean had ever realised. Dean cursed himself for not realising before.

“I’ll tell you every day,” Dean promised. “Fifty times a day. But, uh—” He hesitated, then committed to his thoughts, moving forward under the assumption that Cas would appreciate a bit of heartfelt goopiness. “I’ll do you one better than just tellin’ you the same thing, over and over until I’m some kinda broken record, alright?” He raised Castiel’s hand and kissed it softly. “Sayin’ I love you is one thing. But on my life, I’ll do my damnedest to show you it’s true.”

Castiel looked like he was about to burst into tears for about three seconds. Then he smiled, and rested his forehead on Dean’s. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey, thank me in ten years, when I’ve kept my promise,” Dean said. “Or fifty. Sixty. Seventy. Whatever. We might all die in a nuclear apocalypse. But the way science is progressing these days, we might well become immortal. Who knows.”

He felt tingly at the thought of so many years of their story remaining unwritten. He could only imagine what memories they’d have at their end of their lives, how familiar each of their wrinkly faces would seem.

And, just like that, Dean terrified himself. “Whoa. What, jeez. Okay. Let’s—” He backed away from Castiel, startling him. Letting out a slow, measured breath, Dean closed the front door at last, shutting out the shimmery light of sunset, gleaming off the windows of the house opposite. “Take things one step at a time,” he reminded himself. “Where were we? What’re we doin’?”

Castiel smiled. “I believe we came home to make love.”

Dean smiled at the word ‘home’. The rest of the sentence didn’t sit so well with him.

Castiel patted Dean’s cheek, and slyly corrected himself, leaning in close, “Or would you rather call it ‘banging’?”

“Banging is good.” Dean grinned, giving Castiel a playful smooch. “Race you to the bedroom.”

With that, he shot off up the stairs, tripping twice because he’d forgotten to take his shoes off, and the stair runner was slidey with age. He laughed with a child’s glee as Castiel yanked him by his belt, leaving him collapsed as Castiel overtook. Dean pulled Cas by his ankle, both of them yelping in alarm as Castiel flailed – then caught the bannister, saving himself.

They kicked and fought, snickering and jabbing hands forward to tickle, but Dean won out in the end, stumbling up the last few stairs on all fours, falling over the last one in his haste. He turned at the landing, only to hear Castiel shout, “Bedroom’s the other way!” and so Dean spun on the spot, heading down the other corridor, because, duh, he knew that.

Except he found a towel cupboard instead of a bedroom, and slumped on his feet as he realised Cas had tricked him. Dean ran back the other way – but Castiel had already won.

Castiel folded over with his hands on his knees, laughing and laughing. He whipped off his glasses with one hand, wiping a tear with his other hand. He stood straight, grinning and chuckling at Dean’s sulky posture and half-smirky grumpy-face. “Ehehehe,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, alright, asshat,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes as he pushed past. “Dunno about you, but I wanna get laid already.”

For the second time in two weeks, Dean opened up the door to the master bedroom and was stopped in his tracks.

Surely Cas had tidied up since last time. _Surely_.

Dean felt the warmth of Castiel’s shoulder pressed up behind his own. When Dean looked over, he raised a judgemental eyebrow.

Castiel scowled. “I had a meeting. Or a date.” He lowered his eyes, still frowning.

Dean relaxed. “Oh. Me. _I’m_ your date-slash-meeting.”

“Every week,” Castiel sighed, gazing at the explosion of clothes and fancy lingerie that littered the room. “Every week I go through my entire wardrobe looking for something you’ll like, and I always end up—”

“End up wearing the same waistcoats and funky ties,” Dean finished. He slipped a hand into Castiel’s, squeezing. “If it helps, Cas – I like the stuff you wear, and you know why? Because it’s you wearin’ it. If that makes sense. Not that you wouldn’t look smokin’ hot in a tux, or, like, full-body biker gear, but c’mon. I couldn’t imagine you wearing anything else. Your go-to librarian outfit is... cute.”

“It don’t want to be ‘cute’, I want to be _sexy_ ,” Castiel complained. His eyes rose as he lamented, “I want you to see me and think about taking my clothes _off_. And _ravaging_ me. On the spot. Without care to anyone else, or any kind of professional protocol.” He snatched back his hand and folded his arms. “I wanted—” He resettled his lips, then began again: “I wanted to have sex in my office.”

“You did?”

Castiel practically pouted. “I mean, we were right to leave, but...”

Dean cocked his head, grinning. “Wait, are you telling me you had some kinda... workplace sex fantasy?”

“Of course I did,” Castiel grumbled. “When you and I met, it was often in my office. So many of my imaginings, fantasies of confessing my undying love to you and kissing you on the mouth and – and whatever else, it was all set there. Or in a stranger’s house. But mostly in the office. Ugh, what I wouldn’t have given to be able to lock the door, take you by the waist and—” He swallowed. “Denude you amidst unfinished filing. Fuck you on the desk. Slowly. Quickly. Loudly.” His eyes were furiously stormy as they met Dean’s. “Cover your mouth as you come, making sure you drip your seed all over that ugly, ugly carpet which I’ve never liked and would gladly ruin.”

Dean pretended he wasn’t burning up inside, not least because Castiel used the F-word _and_ referred to Dean’s jizz as ‘seed’. “No mention of the wallpaper?”

“I like the wallpaper.”

Dean huffed. “Why am I not surprised.”

Castiel gazed at Dean’s lips. Then he turned his head and gazed at the bed, which was heaped up with discarded clothing.

Dean poked his tongue between his lips, wetting them. He clapped Castiel on the shoulder. “Wanna do it on the floor? More fun than the bed.”

“What about outside?” Castiel asked, with surprising enthusiasm. “You said earlier you would’ve let me undress you in the garden.”

“It was dark then!” Dean yelped. He gestured at the window, with its Hawai’ian shirt curtain partially blocking the pink light from outside. “I don’t give a damn how friendly the neighbourhood is, Cas, I’m not flashing some friendly horse-riding folks before they even know me. Or after they know me, for that matter. Just, no.”

Castiel sighed. He gazed at the carpet, probably wondering if being almost-forty made him too old for floor sex.

Dean nudged Castiel in the side with an elbow. “There’s a study in the next room along, right? Which is like an office...?”

Castiel’s eyes lit up. Then they dimmed. “The gnomes would judge me. I scratched a personal itch in there one time and they were making up rumours about me for weeks.”

Dean’s lips parted, unsure if Castiel was being serious.

Castiel gave Dean a bro-like bump in the arm with a fist. Dean chuckled in relief.

“We at least need to turn them around,” Castiel advised, leading Dean out of the master bedroom and into the study. “Sentient or not, I imagine having sex in front of anything with eyes would be unnerving.”

“You can say that again,” Dean muttered, gazing distrustfully at the five shelves of garden gnomes. One of them held its ceramic trenchcoat open, giving the whole study an eyeful of its tiny gnome penis. Another one was dressed as a fish. “You actually _like_ these things?”

“I love them dearly.”

“No kidding.” Dean snorted. “God, you’re so fucking weird.”

“Weird, yes. But am I _sexy_?”

Dean wrapped an arm behind his favourite realtor, planting a big kiss on his cheek. “Wholly and completely, Cas. Don’t ever change.”

Castiel kissed Dean back, taking hold of the necktie he’d draped around Dean’s neck before. “Gnomes.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. They slid away from each other, and as a pair moved towards the shelf, hands out to rotate fifteen of the world’s more bizarre expressions of sentimental love.

**· · · · · ♥ · · · · ·**

Last of all, Dean put a sticky-note over the webcam on Castiel’s desktop computer.

Castiel watched this, saying nothing. Dean raised his eyebrows defiantly.

With a smile, Castiel took Dean by the waist and brought him in for a kiss.

“Getting right down to business, are we?” Dean murmured, half-kissing. “Hmmmm.”

“I can’t think of—” kiss kiss, “any reason to wait,” Castiel replied, running a hand back through Dean’s hair, making him groan. “I’m ready, Dean. Right here, right now.”

Dean grinned. Oh, God, he was happy. Actually, properly, capital-H Happy. And _excited_ , in the gleeful sense. The other kind of excitement was starting to build, too: he was feeling tight in the trouser region, and significantly hotter than normal. The butterflies in his stomach were uncommonly fluttery, but that was because Cas was _Cas_. Nobody else made Dean’s butterflies do loop-de-loops.

“As much as I dig the waistcoat,” Dean uttered, smooching Castiel’s bristly jaw, “I kinda wanna yank it right off your arms.”

“Be my guest,” Castiel said, his tone halfway between sultry and playful.

Dean started on the buttons. He wasn’t used to this curtain-fabric clothing; he had to work to pop each button back through its hole. Castiel watched Dean’s hands, then his face. Dean flushed hotter and hotter, shamelessly pushing his hips against Castiel’s, feeling the bulges of both their semi-erections squished between their thighs. Castiel’s ass backed up against his home desk, rattling the computer’s keyboard, toppling a book. He chuckled, apparently thrilled by their carelessness.

Finally Dean divested Cas of the grey waistcoat, struggling with it until it slid away to the carpet. Now Dean fell into another kiss, breathing hard through his nose, steadying the back of Castiel’s head with one hand, while he angled his own head to drive their kiss.

“Mh,” Castiel murmured, nosing at Dean’s cheek, puppy-like. “Be reckless,” he whispered, eyes low. “I’m not soft or fragile, you don’t need to be so gentle.”

Dean’s lips parted. “I _wanna_ be gentle.”

“Oh, well, in _that_ case,” Castiel laughed.

Dean tried anyway: he attempted to rip Castiel’s shirt, but chickened out at the last second. It was a good shirt. Dean undid it gently.

Since Dean’s hands were fumbling, Castiel took over, and they shared a nervous laugh as their fingers collided around Castiel’s sternum. Dean took the shirt from the bottom, and Castiel worked downwards until they met in the middle, at which point Dean’s palm pressed with forced confidence over Castiel’s heart.

 _Ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum_. No pause between beats. Castiel was as enthused as Dean felt, maybe more so.

Fingers trailed up; Dean touched Castiel’s collarbone. His skin was hot and smooth, everything Dean had imagined it would be under the shirt. He found more freckles than he’d expected. Beauty marks, really. Dainty little brown flecks – which he leaned in to kiss, pretending to himself that it wasn’t weird, that maybe Cas liked being kissed in places that weren’t his lips.

“Oh—” Castiel’s breath stuttered. “Oh my goodness,” he whispered, apparently to himself. “ _Oh_.”

Dean put kisses all across his shoulders, nose trailing over skin. Castiel’s open shirt slipped to his biceps, and Dean’s hands caressed the exposed space, blinded by elation at the feeling. Cas was so _big_ now Dean was allowed to get this close. He’d always seem him as being smaller, somehow. Christ, he was _huge_. He was a mountain; every swell of his chest caused an earthquake in Dean’s own body. A forest; he looked hairless but he wasn’t, the hairs were simply thin and light. He must’ve been blonde as a child and only the thickest hair darkened. A thunderstorm; Castiel drew in a breath and exhaled with a sigh of pleasure that seemed to push electricity under Dean’s skin, running currents between their connected bodies. Dean gave his final kiss to the freckle above Castiel’s right nipple, then stood with him again, breaths mingling, noses nudging together.

When Dean wasn’t looking, Castiel had somehow fallen to ruin. His glasses were wonky. He looked so confused, and at the same time, he seemed completely at peace.

“You okay?” Dean asked, with a quick smile.

Castiel nodded, holding Dean’s gaze. His usually tidy hair had come out of place, tufts of it drifting over his forehead. “I want—” he started, before stopping abruptly, shocked by the roughness that had arrived in his voice. He exhaled, then lowered his chin, gazed more intently into Dean’s eyes, and stated, “I want you, Dean. In every way imaginable.”

“You have me,” Dean promised, with affection coating his tongue and flaming in his heart. “I’m all yours, Cas. All yours.”

Seeing the lust in Castiel’s eyes, softness gave way to burning passion, and Dean moved in for a brutal kiss, fingers gripping Castiel’s chin. His other hand went to his own belt buckle, and he undid it slowly, concentrating more on how Castiel stole his breath through his mouth, returning it hot against Dean’s cheek.

When Dean’s belt buckle clanked on the desktop, Dean reached for the button on his pants. He undid it slowly, growing more aroused by the second. The sound of the zipper’s teeth gradually coming apart was altogether too vulgar, too loud, too thrilling.

Castiel leaned back against the desk with his shirt open, tie strewn carelessly on the floor. Dark-eyed, he observed Dean’s erection poking out from his undone pants, straining in his underwear. Dean shut his eyes and sighed in bliss as Castiel held him closer, sliding a tanned hand into his pants.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Dean murmured, sagging on his feet, resting some of his weight against Castiel’s torso. He turned a bit, so he could look down and see Castiel’s spread fingers cupping the bulge in his underwear. “Haaa, fuckfuck—” Dean glanced at the ceiling, grinning. “Yeah. That’s good. That’s good.” A whisper, closed eyes: “ _Oh my God_.”

Castiel rubbed gently, boldly. Dean could feel Cas’ calculating gaze taking in his expression, watching for every minute twitch that could let him know if Dean was into it. There was nothing to conceal; Dean just let himself relax, every breath gliding out from between puffy lips, eyes rolling lazily behind heavy lids. A small smile of relief. It felt beyond good to be touched, Dean thought. Caresses became a _massage_. Dean could judge Cas’ unrefined flirting skills all he wanted, but it was clear Castiel knew exactly what to do with a bulge.

In a teasing way, Castiel thumbed down the band of Dean’s underwear. He looked at the head of Dean’s swollen cock, probably observing the pearly shine of precome – and then he covered it back up again, pinching the fabric, wriggling it until it stung. Dean grunted, hips gyrating, asking for more.

Castiel grinned, breathing against Dean’s neck. Underwear down again, one thumb grazing the wet slit; Dean’s insides flared hot. “Shhhhit.”

Dean decided to launch his counterplay, reaching to undo Castiel’s belt. Castiel leaned back a bit, letting Dean expose him. Undoing this zipper felt even more obscene to Dean than undoing his own. Castiel’s erection was small, fat, and decidedly more forthcoming with the fluid than Dean’s. Most thrilling of all was the sensation of his stretchy lace panties under Dean’s fingertips, dragging.

Feeling determined, Dean pushed his fingers into Castiel’s slacks, cupping the weight of Castiel’s balls. He eased them out, soft and wobbly, so they sat, plumpened, on the partition of his open pants. Dean smiled happily at the sight. There was something objectively _cute_ about Castiel’s cock. Something to do with its shape, probably. It was smooth and stout and compact like a mini torpedo, standing to attention under the lace, its tip soaking the fabric a darker shade of dusky rose. Dean kinda wanted to cuddle the thing, which was definitely weird. But it was _that_ sort of cute.

When Dean looked up, Castiel was blushing. His cheeks had gone pink, his eyes were shiny, and he held his chin down like he was expecting to be chastised. Dean kissed him, softly and quickly, then broke off to press his forehead to Castiel’s temple. “You’re real pretty,” he said, forgetting to filter himself again. “Uhm. I mean, like – handsome.”

Castiel gave a cheery chuckle. “I like pretty. You can call me pretty if you like.”

Dean kissed his cheek, arms surrounding Castiel’s torso to hug him. Dean squeezed, then squeezed harder, feeling sexual impulses being overtaken by softer, cuddly desires. Cas was so damn _adorable_ , and he smelled like baked sugar. Dean’s whole entire being was brimming full of exclamation marks and lovehearts.

Dean squished and rocked his friend from side to side, smiling unabashedly against his shoulder. Castiel actually laughed, crooking one knee up around Dean’s ass. He’d snuck his shoes off when Dean hadn’t been watching, and of all things, it was comforting to feel a warm foot caressing the back of Dean’s thigh.

Castiel peppered Dean’s ear with kisses, pausing every few seconds to hum a note of satisfaction.

Eventually Dean had to slink back, because the edge of the desk wasn’t a comfortable place to lean all his weight. He tried to find a good way to steady himself, all the while looking Castiel in the eyes. When he leaned in, he went roughly, gripping Castiel’s hips and yanking him in so Dean could _press_ himself there. Right there. Swelling against Castiel’s mostly-hard erection, Dean started to hump.

“Ah—” Castiel’s hand flew to grip the edge of the desk. “Oh sh-shit—! Dean—”

The desk moved half an inch, and Castiel slammed his feet to the carpet, bracing himself so the desk wouldn’t move again. He gasped, eyebrows together, gazing at Dean in speechless astonishment as they carried on bumping together, shocking each other with hard contact. Dean grunted, head down, curtailing the rhythm with one furious, deep _screw_ against Castiel’s wet panties. Pushing. _Fucking_.

Castiel trembled, fighting to hold back his moan. Dean heard it anyway, a strangled cry of “Haaaanghh, oh my guhhh. Ffff.” One tight fist gripped Dean’s shirt collar, and the fabric became so tense that a button gave up the fight immediately, flying off to hit a filing cabinet on the other side of the room with a _dingk_!

Dean laughed, head turning towards the sound. His eyes returned to Castiel – and then he sturdied himself again, took Castiel by the waist and lifted him completely up onto the desk.

Files spilled off the other side and slid down the wall, a pen toppled onto Castiel’s one-armed desk chair. Castiel seemed startled for all of three seconds, then grinned and lifted his legs up, wrapping them over Dean’s ass. Dean lay him halfway down, still holding his shoulders.

The sensation of falling took hold and Castiel flinched.

“Hey, I got you,” Dean assured him. “I work out. I could lift all of you if it came to that.”

Castiel snorted. “All right, quit bragging,” he replied, half rolling his eyes. They shared a silly grin.

They gradually began to move like they were fucking, Castiel open-mouthed, first exhaling in soft sighs, but soon panting eagerly, small vocalisations paired with each breath. Dean placed his forehead against Castiel’s chest and shut his eyes, taking comfort from his heat and laboured exhales. Dean turned his hips against Castiel slowly but with force, purring at the motion.

Castiel’s head fell back and he moaned, body tensing around Dean. “Ouhh... Dean... _Deaaannn_...”

Dean gazed at him in awe. That was a porn-movie-worthy moan if he’d ever heard one.

“Mhhh. Dean... Deeeean...” Castiel keened, biting his lip, eyes closed. “Hmmmm!” He gasped, whole body twitching. “Fuck!” he expelled in a breath, and the cuss made him and Dean both flush hot; it was rare to hear him swear. “Oh— Oh mmm. MmmDeannnn, fuck – oh my goodness – oh my ghhh sssshhhhit!” He slapped Dean’s back, eyes closed. “Dean. _Dean_ DeanDean – ah – ha – mmff – AH—!”

“I got ya,” Dean assured him, cradling Castiel’s back with both arms. He dragged his weight against Castiel’s body, making Castiel shudder violently, a strangled whimper escaping his lips. The friction of their dampened underwear together was practically torture; it burned and chafed, but the sensual overload still felt good to Dean. A smoother ride could be better, though. “You wanna get naked, Cas? Pull your panties down?”

Castiel’s eyelids fluttered. “Auh,” he sighed, pulling himself up by Dean’s shoulders. “Yes,” he breathed. “Let’s take our clothes off.”

For a moment, Castiel sat by himself, his expression stunned and his body visibly vibrating, while Dean stepped back, one hand loosening his own tie with a back-and-forth tug. Dean watched Castiel busying his hands, fingers stroking his erection through his panties, lifting the waistband to look at himself.

“This is all new to you, huh,” Dean said, understandingly.

Castiel looked up, swallowing once. “I’ve—” He panted, and his voice returned, weaker and shaking on every word: “I’ve never been sexually stimulated to this extent in my entire life. I’m – I’m _dizzy_.”

“I can go easier on you,” Dean suggested, feeling a guilty smugness at being _too much_ for someone.

Castiel gave Dean an offended glare. “I don’t want you to ‘go easy’,” he said bluntly, with finger quotes. “At what point did I say I... I didn’t enjoy it...?” He trailed off, distracted as he returned to touching himself.

Dean tingled; Castiel twined his legs together, squeezing them, biting his lip because the pressure caused him some manner of delight. He was flushed all the way down his chest, puffy-lipped— And now he was nude, both thumbs working his panties down his thighs. The dampened lace brushed his knees and fell to join his slacks in a crumpled pile on the carpet. He lifted his socked feet out of the leg holes, then used his toes to take his socks off.

Dean watched this all, mesmerised by the striptease. Castiel didn’t even try to put on a show; his manner of undressing was merely business-like, movements purposeful and lacking any kind of flirtatious gesture. Somehow that made it all the more sexier. He just wanted to be naked.

Now, except for his open shirt worn half-off his arms, Castiel was completely unclothed. He wriggled himself comfortable, bare ass on the desktop, eyes on Dean.

He raised his hands like he was asking Dean for a hug. Finally kicking off his pants to join his shirt, Dean went to Cas, feeling like he was floating. His bare chest pressed Castiel’s chin, anointed with a kiss; his wide hips squished up against the softest skin of Castiel’s inner thighs.

Dean’s hands cradled the back of Castiel’s head, eyes closing as he smiled. Castiel still smooched Dean’s belly, tip of his straight nose bending as he pressed his muzzle forward.

Dean’s eyebrows leapt; Castiel had begun sucking a nipple. “Ah! Mmmm,” Dean purred, teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Rrrrgh, good. Shit. Yeah.” He let his mouth fall open with a sigh, sparks bright behind his eyelids. All he felt was the succulent warmth of Castiel’s tongue, and the impossibly silken slide of his inner lips, lavishing Dean’s puckered nipple with attention.

Castiel ran his hands up and down Dean’s back. Dean was sweating; Castiel didn’t seem to mind.

Dean opened his eyes and looked down as he felt Castiel’s lips slide away. Blue eyes met Dean’s gaze: Castiel peered up with unquestionable adoration swimming in those dewdrop pools. Instinctively, Dean sank to kiss him, soft lips touching a pair even more tender. Castiel made a contented sound, warm fingertips on Dean’s jawline.

Dean nudged himself out of the kiss, hands roaming in a soft sweep around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel groaned, eyes shut, smiling. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat.

Dean’s hands moved to pinch Castiel’s glasses and slide them off his nose. “You’re gonna break these,” he warned, setting them aside, folded up.

“Not like I could see through them anyway,” Castiel conceded, eyebrows lifting, interspersing his words with small kisses to Dean’s throat, rising up. “They had your – mh – forehead smudges – all over them.”

“Yeah, blame me,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes as Castiel stretched up tall from where he sat, reaching to kiss a sensitive spot under Dean’s ear. “Mmmmyeah. Right there. That’s awesome. Mmm.”

“Give me your hand,” Castiel demanded, holding out a palm. Dean put his hand in Castiel’s, expecting Cas wanted to hold hands while they made out. But Castiel upturned their hands and directed Dean’s fingers to his erection. Castiel wriggled on the desk, adjusting himself so Dean could easily reach to pleasure him.

“Eager, huh?”

“Ghuhh.” Castiel melted against Dean’s chest. “Ahh. Fuck. _Fffuck_...”

“You feelin’ all tingly?”

“I’mmmm boiling. Volcano. Ah— Yes. Ye-heh-hess, go faster. Shit. Auuh.”

Castiel’s hands were gripping Dean’s biceps so hard it hurt. His head bowed to watch Dean jack him off; he seemed perpetually astonished by the sight. Dean kissed the top of Castiel’s head, gently humping between Castiel’s parted legs every so often, hips still craving some action.

“Aaagh, Deeean. Feels so— Oh my goodness. Oh my _goodness_.”

“ _God_ you’re cute,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s fluffy hair. “Be cuter, Cas, I freakin’ dare you.”

“Eeeeeehh,” Castiel whined, humping into Dean’s hand. “Please. Pleeease. Dean... Dean! Yes. Yes! Don’t stop, don’t stop—” He gripped the back of Dean’s neck for stability, gasping, shaking. He turned his head up, looking Dean in the eye with a stunned, sparkling expression of awe. Castiel let out one surprised gasp – “Ah?”—

Dean glanced down. “What?” Warm fluid spilled over his hand, Castiel’s cock thumping in his fist. “Cas— Dude! You’re meant to tell me!”

“Whuh?” Castiel’s dazed eyes lazily tracked to meet Dean’s.

More clearly, Dean repeated, “You’re meant to _tell_ me when you’re going to come. So I can slow down, and it lasts longer.”

“Oh.” Castiel stroked Dean’s cheek with a hand. “But it felt so wonderful.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Dean mumbled, grinning as he kissed Castiel’s sweaty temple, giving him a squeezy hug.

“Usually,” Castiel breathed, “I try and come as fast as possible so I can go to sleep.”

Dean snorted.

“I take it that’s not the goal when you’re with a partner.”

“Ding ding ding,” Dean laughed. “It’s fine, Cas. Learning process, right? Next time you’ll last longer.”

“No hard feelings?” Castiel asked, jokingly.

“Not any more, no,” Dean replied, making Castiel laugh. “Let’s just— C’mon.” He took Castiel’s hand and guided it between his legs, making him hold the base of his cock. “One more boner to entertain.”

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes, holding his gaze while he stroked him.

At first Dean thought the ceaseless eye contact was sweet. Cas wanted to watch him; the intimacy had to be mind-blowing. It was special for Dean, at least, and this wasn’t even his first time.

But then it got weird, because Cas’ gaze was so incredibly perceptive. Dean felt layers of his soul being stripped away, until he felt more than just _bare_ , or vulnerable. He was a small and insignificant figure without features, lost and wandering on a desolate moor, fog around him, stumbling forward while a warm, caramel-scented wind whispered to him from nowhere.

Dean came apart from himself for a few seconds – and was shocked back to reality with a chaste kiss, warm on his lips.

Dean blinked furiously.

“Where did you go?” Castiel asked.

Dean had to breathe twice before replying. “Not even kidding, Cas – kinda got lost in your eyes.” He chuckled to himself, unnerved.

“Well,” Castiel said softly, smiling as he captured Dean’s gaze again, “I hope you found your way home?”

Dean looked into his eyes again, and the fog had cleared: this time he was absorbed by a blue sky. Night fell over the moor, and lights came on in the darkness. Comforts, bright with happiness and warmth.

“Yeah,” Dean whispered, kissing Castiel’s forehead. He nodded. “Yeah, Cas. I’m home.”

They kissed gently after that. They cuddled more than they humped; they held hands, hearts pressing together so they could feel the beats through sensitive skin.

For quite some time, Dean forgot they were chasing his climax; he let Cas play with his hair, and kiss his freckles, and tease him about his creaky knees. They switched places, and Dean sat on the desk while Castiel stood and held him close. Slowly. Smoothly. Forgetting the point. Just exploring the nature of each other, sharing heat.

For minutes at a time, they’d stop moving just to hug. Dean would close his eyes, breathing in the smell of butterscotch pie. Then they’d slide back, take deep breaths, and sink into another deep kiss.

When Dean did eventually come, it was as unexpected as Castiel’s peak had been. It was altogether a quiet experience; Castiel was only cuddling Dean, kissing his ear, and Dean had his legs wrapped around Cas’ waist. Castiel gave Dean a tight, wriggly hug, and they both chuckled. In a big rush of emotion, Dean’s mind and heart beamed bright, feeling especially sparkly and brilliant and happy. It was only when he felt something hot seeping out of him that he realised his emotional state had translated to the physical.

“Ohh,” he croaked, weakly. He touched himself, only for his hand to be caught under another heavy pulse of fluid. He grinned, eyes fluttering shut.

“I thought we were meant to tell each other,” Castiel asked.

“I— Ah. Didn’t know.” Dean licked his lips, eyelids drooping as he tugged himself empty, squeezing the last white droplets out onto his own skin. “Haven’t come like that in a long time. All slow ‘n nice.”

“Hmm.” Castiel gave Dean a reassuring kiss.

They hugged for a while longer. Kissing. Hands intersecting between their bodies, playing with each other’s fingers.

Eventually Dean sagged, forehead bumping Castiel’s shoulder, where his shirt collar rumpled up.

“Tired?” Castiel asked.

“Very very.”

Castiel rubbed Dean’s back. “Would you like a snack? There’s a chocolate cake in the fridge.”

“Mmmh I love you.”

“Because of the cake, or—?”

“Definitely the cake,” Dean muttered. He lifted his head, meeting Castiel’s eyes and giving him a playful wink.

“You’re making a joke.”

“Yeah.” Dean brought Cas in for a little peck on the nose. “Castiel, I love you for everythin’ you are and do. You maintaining a constant supply of pudding is just the freakin’ cherry on top.”

“Hey, that cherry is _mine_ ,” Castiel declared. “You get the rainbow sprinkles.”

Dean grinned a lopsided, fatigued grin. “Did I say I love you?”

“Might’ve mentioned it.”

They had one more kiss, for luck.

Okay, five.

Or seven.

Eventually Castiel helped creaky-kneed, butt-achey Dean off the desk, and they cleaned each other up with some bathroom tissue. Maybe they hugged and smooched a little more, since there was no rush, and the gnomes had no right to judge them for schmoopiness.

Thus, they soon ate cake, naked in their kitchen.

There was a small amount of... _slathering_. A bit of licking.

And a helluva lot of kissing.

**· · · · · ♥ · · · · ·**

**· time passes ·**

They tore up their contract. Literally.

First Castiel took a photocopy and scanned it, then filed the copy in a drawer, along with a form that officially voided their agent-client agreement. Then he made a point of tearing up the original. He gave Dean some to rip up, too. They showered the office with contract confetti – and then swept it into the recycling with a broom and a taut piece of paper used as a pan, because the Dyson was still broken.

Dean gave his landlady two weeks’ notice, and once that time elapsed, he moved out of his city apartment. All his possessions arrived divided between Sammy’s beat-up old sedan, and Castiel’s spacious Impala (which Dean gleefully drove himself, forgetting to feel bad about fuel consumption, and feeling badass instead).

Things were as they ought to be.

It didn’t take long before Castiel donated most of his clothes to charity, realising he never really liked them anyway. He kept the waistcoats, the funky ties, and the trenchcoat. He loved those very much.

Dean began to wear polka-dot suspenders more often than he used to.

Dean’s DVD collection merged easily with Castiel’s. They doubled up on only a few titles, which Sam took home after the third or fourth time he came to visit. Charlie took the geekier action-sci-fi ones that didn’t interest documentary-loving Sam.

While in the kitchen, admiring how Dean’s toaster fit perfectly into an empty space (seriously, Cas had gone through life making toast in a freaking _pan_ ), Sam imparted something which made both Dean and Castiel light up inwardly, convincing them they’d made the right decision in getting together.

Sam said this: “It’s nice how you fit. Like you both had half the ingredients, thinking you were about as good as you could get. I see it everywhere around the house – the toaster, for example. Cas didn’t have a toaster. Dean, you did. Your movie and TV collection, too, y’know? It all slots neatly into that cabinet, and you have basically the same tastes. Cas, your car is the _exact_ make and model that Dean deemed ‘sexiest beast’ when he was in tenth grade. And Dean drives a Prius, which, when you think about it, basically neutralises your combined carbon footprint, at least when it comes to cars.”

“So Cas compliments me,” Dean said. “Other half, or whatever.”

Sam shrugged. “More like you’re a cookie, and Cas is a croissant. Both of you were decent enough by yourselves. Neither of you _needed_ to be a croissookie, but it happened. And, as unnecessarily sweet as you are together, the combination kind of works.”

Side-by-side, Dean and Castiel smiled, and pressed their shoulders together without really thinking about it.

And, as Sam said, their pairing worked spectacularly. They were content to share a bathroom, happy to share a kitchen, and overjoyed to share a bed. Castiel thought the toaster was nifty. He gave it a hug, once. It burned him. He never hugged it again, but he still talked to it sometimes.

They adopted rabbits.

Guinea pigs, less than a week afterwards.

And then, two years later, they adopted a baby.

**· · · · · ♥ · · · · ·**

**· two (and a bit) years later ·**

Castiel liked Charlie’s hat. It sort of flopped over her eyes, but that was part of its charm. The straw weave reflected the summer sun in almost-white, which made her red hair and the flowers pinned in the hat’s ribbon stand out even more.

“Yeah, I closed a couple deals a few miles down the road from here,” Charlie said, smiling at Castiel’s neighbour Sherita. The three of them stood in a group on the lawn, each lady holding a champagne flute in one hand, Castiel holding his daughter with both. “Seems like everyone’s caught on; sales in Liberty Crest are _totally_ booming. Parents with their kids, mostly.” Charlie’s eyes moved to Castiel, then to Claire in his arms. “Tiny babies need loads of space! Don’t you? You grow so fast!” Charlie cooed at the infant, eyes crinkling up. Castiel held her a bit higher, beaming because Claire giggled happily at the attention.

As Charlie played with Claire’s tiny feet in her tiny buttoned booties, Castiel’s gaze drifted. His eyes went straight to Sherita, who was clearly delighted to watch Charlie, but her smile widened as she saw Castiel watching her.

“Your hair looks fantastic,” Castiel remarked, finally saying what he’d waited to say for several minutes.

Sherita’s hand rose to the four knots of kinky black hair, twisted tight atop her scalp. “Aw! Thanks,” she grinned. “My youngest daughter did it this morning, she fancies herself a stylist. She picked the boots too. Check these suckers out.” Sherita waggled one foot: she wore fuchsia rainboots, despite the clement weather and the complete lack of puddles.

“Well, I like them very much,” Castiel said. “Tell... her I think she has good taste.”

Castiel flushed with embarrassment, internally, head down. Sherita hadn’t noticed, and had gone back to talking with Charlie, but Castiel had done it again: he’d forgotten Sherita’s daughter’s name. He did it at every social gathering. Dean was always so good at remembering names...

Not for the first time, Castiel cradled Claire to his chest and scanned the garden for any sign of Dean. The oak tree barely cast a shadow at this time of the day, and it was easy to see the faces of friends and family who had shown up for the celebration. Castiel saw Sam manning the smoky barbeque, while gruff old Bobby distracted him with life advice. Along came Missouri, ready to tell Bobby off. There was Sherita’s husband Pablo, who’d kindly flown back from Dubai a day early just to be here, and there were Sherita and Pablo’s six children, all of varying skin tone and hair colour, chasing Button between the sprinklers. But Castiel couldn’t see Dean.

Sherita’s voice drifted back into Castiel’s awareness. “When you have children you won’t think they’re so charming,” she said to Charlie. “You wouldn’t believe how hard they are to do up when those stompers are kicking the bejeezus outta you.”

Castiel quickly figured out they were talking about baby shoes, but the subject changed in a blink— “Oh, I’m not having children,” Charlie said quickly. “I’m more of a career gal. Real estate for liiiife,” she sang, her free hand throwing up some kind of two-fingered salute.

Sherita chuckled. She eyed Castiel, who bobbed up and down to keep Claire entertained. “You figured out the balance quickly, didn’t you,” she remarked, gesturing to Castiel with her champagne. “Work life, home life.”

“It helps that there’s two of me,” Castiel muttered, looking around for Dean again.

“Sure does,” Sherita agreed.

“My girlfriend doesn’t want kids either,” Charlie said. “She travels too often – and besides, her books are her babies. She spends more time writing in Aus than she does here. It works for us, though.”

“Oh, same. Me and Pablo are _so_ lucky we get to meet up every few months...”

Sherita went on, talking about her long-distance marriage. Castiel bounced and bounced, cheek resting on Claire’s hat. Where the _hell_ was Dean? They’d planned this garden party together, and Dean was meant to make a speech very soon— _This_ might as well be a long-distance relationship, for all the presence and support Dean was providing right now.

“Excuse me,” Castiel said hastily, knowing full-well it was rude to interrupt. “I have to go and find Dean.”

“I think I saw him in the kitchen,” Charlie advised.

Castiel nodded, stepping away. “Come on, Claire, let’s go find your Daddy.”

“Da,” Claire said.

“That’s right. Kitchen first, yes?”

“Da.”

Castiel hopped from one lilypad paving slab to the next, with a big “Hup!” each time, making Claire chortle. They reached the open conservatory door and went inside. Cool air relieved the sunshine heat in Castiel’s skin, and it was even better in the kitchen.

“Hello,” Castiel said to Kevin and his mother, who were having a loud private argument in Mandarin, interspersed with words of English.

Mrs. Tran cut off her shrieking mid-shout, and turned to shoot Castiel a furious glare. Then she realised who it was, and her eyes softened. “Hey, small baby,” she said sweetly, approaching with a smile on her face. “Oh, you’re so lucky, Mr. Castiel, you have the most beautiful daughter. She’ll grow up big and strong like her fathers, I bet.”

“Huh,” Kevin said, arms folded in the background.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Mrs. Tran snapped back over her shoulder. “Your father would’ve wanted you to do as I say!”

“But _Mom_ —”

“Not in front of our friend, I didn’t raise you to be so rude!”

“No, you raised me to be _President_!” Kevin said, distraught. “How hard is it to understand, I don’t want to be President, I want to be a translator! I’m good at it, Mom! And it’s useful, and just because it’s not what _you_ see me doing, doesn’t mean— It’s MY LIFE, MOM.”

“Um.” Castiel let Claire down, because she was wriggling, upset by the shouting. “You haven’t seen Dean, have you, by any chance?”

Seething, Mrs. Tran turned to Castiel. “What?”

“Dean. I’m looking for him.”

“No.”

Such venom! With chills under his skin, Castiel picked Claire up again, right before she crawled under the dining table. “Okay, Claire, let’s go. We’ll leave these two to their argument. Ahh, oh dear. I hope I won’t shout at you like that when you’re older. Expecting things from you is one thing, but—”

“Ba.”

“Yes, quite. Placing unreasonably high demands on you to the extent that they erase your sense of self is another thing _entirely_.”

The kitchen was quiet when he left the room and went into the hallway. Castiel tried not to feel smug.

Castiel checked the living room as he walked through; he smiled at their adoption agent, who smiled back before helping herself to more Doritos. Castiel climbed the stairs, opening and closing both baby gates. Castiel let Claire knock on the bathroom door, but it was Bobby’s pal Rufus who replied, not Dean.

“What’d’ya want,” came the blunt voice.

“Have you seen Dean?” Castiel asked, allowing Claire to chew the end of his tie. “I can’t find him.”

“Ain’t seen your boyfriend, kid. Best guess, he’s rollin’ naked in pie filling.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway.” Castiel sighed, carrying Claire onwards. Dean was not in the study, nor in the bedroom. Castiel unlatched the baby gate at the base of the next staircase; there was only one place left to check.

“Dean?” he called, making his way up the stairs.

“Yeah?” came the reply.

Castiel’s shoulders dropped. “ _There_ you are. We’re missing you downstairs.” Castiel closed the second baby gate and pushed open the door to Claire’s bedroom, then put Claire down, letting her crawl towards Dean. “You’re not even dressed!”

Dean looked down at himself, arms out. “I am dressed!” he argued. “Booty shorts, a shirt. I got all the bases covered.”

“Dean, your shirt is two sizes too small and says ‘chunky’ in big letters.”

“It’s clothes, isn’t it?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, striding up to Dean’s side, taking the paintbrush out of his hand. “Why are you decorating _now_? You spent so long psyching _me_ up to be social, now you’re avoiding everyone. They’re not just here for Claire, they’re here for me and you. _Bobby_ came, Dean. You know how hard it is for him to get his wheelchair in the car.”

Dean sulked, eyes on the pastel-mint-green wall he was half-done painting. “It needed doing.”

“Yes, but not now,” Castiel frowned. “I thought we were going to paint together.”

Dean twisted his lips, arms folded, eyes down. He shrugged.

“Da,” Claire said, tugging on Dean’s bare leg. “Da.”

Dean grinned, bending at the waist to lift his daughter. “Oh, who’s a big girl. Urfhh. You _are_ a big girl, goddamn.” He patted her back, smiling as she felt his stubble with her chubby hand. “You try the tiramisu yet? I made it special.”

Castiel frowned. “Are you mad? We’re not giving her dessert laden with both coffee _and_ alcohol. She can have the strawberry yoghurt Missouri brought.”

“And pie?”

Castiel sighed, smiling. “And pie, yes.”

“Pie,” said Claire.

Dean headbutted his daughter, nuzzling her chest with his head. “Oh, Claire, baby, you have _no_ idea how proud I am that ‘pie’ was your first word. No idea.”

“Pie,” said Claire, more cheerfully.

“Get dressed, Dean.” Castiel said, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “There’s lots of people who have an awful lot to talk to us about.”

Dean’s smile dimmed, and those pretty green eyes of his showed a touch of shame.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean sighed, head down. “Look, I know, man, I schooled you _hard_ on the importance of smalltalk. I know you hate the life-update chit-chat. But... I don’t know what the hell to talk about beyond that. All my real, soul-deep conversations are with you, or Charlie, or Sam. Sometimes Jody. And sometimes Bobby, but I don’t usually talk about relationshippy stuff with him.”

“Just talk about how happy you are that we were approved to become adoptive parents,” Castiel shrugged. “Talk about how Claire’s grown and developed in the last couple months, and why we postponed the celebration party until now, three whole months after we adopted her.”

Dean snorted. “Dude, they’re decent people, they don’t need to hear about our parenting problems.”

“They’d understand, Dean,” Castiel assured him. “Half of them are in relationships, and many have children. I’m sure even Jody had the same difficulties with her husband when he was alive. No couple is perfect, and babycare is never easygoing. You’re comparing us to some non-existent pairing.”

“Yeah, but—” Dean kissed Claire’s head, then let her slide down to play with some of her toys. “But I still feel bad. Y’know? I was expecting myself to be automatically _good_ at caring for a baby just because I wanted to be a father so badly. Add that on top of supporting you, and keepin’ myself grounded at the same time? Hell, I can’t do all three at once, not without significant practice and the occasional freakout. Neither can you, now I think about it.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows.

Dean smirked. “All I’m saying is— God. I’m glad we got through those first couple months. Like... really, really glad.” Chin down to his chest, he was overcome with humility. “I dunno what I’d do without you, Cas. You’re kinda my whole life, now. Claire, as well. I don’t know how or why I ever thought we’d made a mistake in adopting her.”

Castiel pressed close, one hand stroking Dean’s bicep through his too-tight t-shirt. “You came around,” Castiel said. “And that’s what matters.”

“Yeah.” Dean swallowed, eyes going to the slowly-drying paintbrush Castiel held onto. “Guess I figured painting would take my mind off... whatever. I keep thinking about what I said back then. I must’ve been outta my _mind_ with fatigue, wanting to – pff – take our baby back to foster care. God. I almost cost us everything.”

“You give yourself too much credit,” Castiel smirked, kissing Dean’s cheek. “If you’d really asked me to give up either you or Claire, we both know I’d’ve picked Claire.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah.”

“We’re a solid trio now,” Castiel said. “Knowing definitively that we’re happier together makes us _stronger_.”

“Oh, yeah, give me the hippie talk,” Dean grinned, taking Castiel by the waist. “You know that philosophical big-picture side of you only comes out whenever you remember that _you_ screw up sometimes too, right? Who was it who told me to fuck off and never come back?”

“Dean,” Castiel smiled, “we talked about this. No swearing in front of Claire.”

“Oh, please. Claire’s gonna grow up a badass, running her mouth and swearing like a sailor. She’s gonna shave her head and get tattoos all down her back, I can just _tell_.”

Castiel huffed. “No, she’s going to be our little angel.”

A voice came from the hallway. “Can’t she be both?”

Dean and Castiel turned at the waist, still holding each other. Sam stood in the doorway, knocking twice on the open door. He wore a huge smile.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean smiled, giving Castiel one last squeeze before sliding away, meeting Sam in the middle of the room and giving him a big, back-clapping hug. “Tell Cas I’m dressed to the nines, would you?”

Sam took one look at Dean’s shirt, and a flat expression overrode his smile. “‘Chunky’? Really?”

“It goes with the shorts,” Dean complained, slapping both hands on his own ass. “I have a good butt, and these shorts show it off. Even _Cas_ says so. And if this outfit is good enough to wear while I’m washing Baby, it’s good enough for the neighbours.”

Castiel rolled his eyes to Sam. “You’d think ‘Baby’ refers to Claire, but no. ‘Baby’ is my car. He loves that thing more than me.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, like that’s possible. Anyway, I came up here to tell you the barbeque’s all fired up. Bobby took over cooking duties.”

“Oh, that’s why you smell like smoke,” Dean uttered, wandering to Claire, crouching down to watch her bashing a dragon plushie on the new carpet. “Thought you put out a fire before you dropped by here, you bein’ a firefightin’ hero and all.” He glanced back at Sam. “There’d better be bacon left.”

“There’ll be plenty of bacon if you come down soon,” Sam said. “People keep asking where you went. They wanna see you.”

“Yeah.” Dean stood up again, palms on his creaky knees. He wandered to Castiel, taking his hand. “You wanna?”

Castiel gazed in dissatisfaction at Dean’s shirt, but gave in, and nodded.

As a group, they made their way downstairs, Sam carrying Claire, making sure she knew his name. “Uncle Sam,” Sam said again. “ _Uncle_. Claire, can you say ‘uncle’?”

“Ugg.” Claire pulled Sam’s long hair and giggled when he winced.

The bathroom was empty; Rufus must’ve gone outside already. Kevin was alone in the kitchen, smiling brightly. He saw Castiel, and immediately ran to give him a hug.

“Hello?” Castiel asked.

“Thanks, Cas,” Kevin said. “Just— Just _thank you_. I hope you _never_ learn how to filter yourself in a socially acceptable manner.”

Dean gave Castiel a curious look. Castiel just smiled. “You’re very welcome, Kevin.”

Castiel, Dean, Sam and Claire all emerged into the sunny garden, Kevin in tow, his teeth sinking into a celebratory vegan sandwich he’d made out of things from the fridge.

People spotted them and cheered, hands rising to wave to Claire. Castiel noticed a few people laughing at Dean’s outfit, and Sherita jokily covered the eyes of her youngest daughter – whose name was _Larissa_ , Castiel remembered now. Thank goodness, he did know.

They mingled with folks around the garden for a couple of minutes, with Dean and Cas and Sam sticking close together. Though it was most pleasant to converse when Dean led the discussion, Castiel was pleased when the small talk was abruptly cut short.

“Mr. Winchester, Mr. Winchester,” cried a small voice. Castiel looked to its approaching source: another of Sherita’s kids, this one was called – D... Daniel... Damien—

“Heyyy, Denzel, what _up_ , my man,” Dean greeted the boy, dropping to a crouch and making his thighs bulge. He offered a fist bump, and Denzel accepted it, with the same excessive physical attitude he always displayed.

“Can we feed the rabbits?” Denzel pleaded, hands on Dean’s knees, jumping up and down. “Can we can we can we pleeeease?”

Dean chuckled, eyes rising to Castiel. “I dunno, what does Cas say?”

Denzel gave Castiel a puppy-eyed look to rival Button’s. It seemed entirely possible that Denzel was in fact mimicking his dog.

Castiel gave a theatrical sigh. “Well, if your mom says yes, and you promise to be really, really gentle—”

“We will!” Two more kids popped into view, orbiting Castiel excitedly. “Can we see the guinea pigs too? Pleasepleaseplease!”

Dean stood up straight, deep crinkles of happiness beside his eyes. “What’d’ya say, Cas? Looks like the kids love the furry nibblers as much as we do.”

“Well, we did bring the wire run out just for this occasion, didn’t we?” Castiel said, teasing the kids with their deliberation. He liked seeing Dean smile this much. “We could transport the rabbits and the guinea pigs _out_ from their home in the garden shed, and put them in the middle of the lawn, safe in their run, and that way everyone can enjoy watching them.”

“Yes we could, Cas,” Dean said. Sam was laughing behind him, a roughened noise which mesmerised Claire in his arms. “Ohh, all right,” Dean sighed eventually, with a tone of defeat. He couldn’t help but share Castiel’s mile-wide grin; the children cheered, losing their senses to excitement. “Just so long as you promise to make sure they don’t get hurt! All on board say aye-aye, Captain. With feeling!”

The children agreed, more solemnly. Larissa ran her fingers in a cross over her heart, so Dean and Castiel knew she meant it.

Dean offered Castiel a hand, and Castiel took it. “C’mon, Cas. Let’s go feed our critters.”

Sam came along too, still carrying Claire, who simply adored pulling his long hair. Sam didn’t seem to mind that much.

Castiel looked back as they walked back through the garden to the shed, so delighted that Dean did sort of have a brother. Sam was family, like everyone here. And they had a daughter now! Even after months of caring for her, Castiel was still bursting with astonishment that she was _theirs_. Dean and Cas got to _keep_ her. She was the most precious being who ever lived.

The troupe entered the shed beside the house, and one by one, Castiel and Dean carefully carried their pets from their hutches to the run on the lawn. It wasn’t just the children who were delighted; Castiel was full of love every time he stroked Dean’s rabbits, Salt, Pepper, and Cayenne. And likewise, Dean’s macho heart always softened into mush whenever he handled Castiel’s guinea pigs. Maybe because Castiel had named them Bibbidi, Bobbidi, and Boo. But mostly because they were cute as hell. Dean adored small, fluffy animals, though he might occasionally be loathe to admit it.

He loved Castiel, though. And Castiel had been readily convinced that he himself was as small and fluffy as a person could get, personality-wise.

Button the dog was especially interested in the rodent run. Sam sat down with him on the lawn, keeping the old mutt company while together they observed the children each getting a chance to pet the little creatures. On Sam’s lap, Claire babbled incoherently while playing with the grass.

Some distance away, on the other side of the oak tree, Castiel leaned up against the trunk with a sigh.

Dean chuckled, resting his forehead on Castiel’s cheek. “Tired?”

“People are exhausting,” Castiel said, eyes closed. He only saw dappled sunlight flickering upon his eyelids, making everything a blazing red. He then felt a soft, warm kiss on his cheek.

Dean hummed. “I don’t tire you out like other people, huh?”

“Not nearly as much, no.” Castiel opened his eyes so he could gaze softly at his partner. “And let’s thank either God or the devil for that.”

Dean smiled, sneaking his hand into Castiel’s, leaning against the tree too.

For a while, they remained silent. Just resting. Simply breathing, and being, and letting their minds fall quiet.

Castiel took a deep breath. Clean air, green trees; barbeque smoke. He let it all go with a smile.

“I feel like today marks the first day,” Dean said.

“Hm?”

“Everything’s official now,” Dean explained. “Up until now, we weren’t really... _sure_. Up until last week, you ‘n me... Hell, the foundation was solid – but let’s be honest here, the edges were kinda wonky. But Claire’s staying for good. We made up. I never wanna fight again, and I— I wanna be a family. A proper, together family. Like Sherita and her kids, they’ve got the whole deal figured out. Even Kevin and his mom. They argue, but there’s some good love ablaze somewhere in there.”

Castiel gazed at Dean, nestling his head down on his shoulder. Slowly he shut his eyes, calm and at peace.

“This is it,” Dean said, determined. “We did it, Cas. We made a home.”

Castiel smiled. “So we did.”

Dean kissed Castiel’s hair, bumping his glasses with his chin. “Welcome to the rest of your life, I guess.”

Castiel lifted his head, inhaling. “ _Our_ lives.”

“Mm.”

Castiel gave Dean a slow, familiar kiss on his lips, smiling all the while. When he pulled back, Dean looked thoughtful.

“What?” Castiel asked, grinning.

Dean lapped at his lips a couple of times, squinting one eye. “Cinnamon— Is that apple strudel?”

Castiel laughed, nodding. “There’s plenty left on the dessert table. You want some?”

“You’re wasting time asking, man,” Dean complained. “C’mon.” He squeezed Castiel’s hand and dragged him out from behind the privacy of the tree. “My shirt may be tight but at least it’s stretchy. Plenty of room in my belly.”

“Plenty of room in your heart, too,” Castiel remarked. “For – what was it? – sixty, seventy years of love? Barring an apocalypse or immortality, that is.”

Dean rolled his eyes. But he liked sickly sweet things, both to taste and to feel inside. So he had no complaints to make, really.

Anyway, Cas was right.

Home was both a place and a feeling.

And together, here, they had it all.

**· the end ·**

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyyy. *winky finger guns* So, that's that.  
> If you want another fic to read, here ya go. (Please keave kudos before you go!!)  
> » With realtor!Cas: [Cowboys and Real Estate Angels](http://archiveofourown.org/works/824325) (37k)  
> » With more schmoop and domesticity: [Take You To The Country](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4301445) (19k) & [Father Material](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3256016) (12k)  
> » With more unprofessional workplace sex: [Fight and Fool Around](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8637334) (5k) & [Sexier Than Doctor Sexy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1153455) (9k)  
> » With more food: [Lettuce Share This Moment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1180387) (4k)  
> (Or you could check out [my other 65 fics](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works) and pick somethin' you're into~ And then subscribe for more!!!)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's already subscribed, and anyone who has ever left kudos or comments on any of my works. You people are the coolest. ♥


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